


Breaking Bread

by sunshineglow118



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Eventual Romance, Gen, M/M, Oblivious Professor Membrane, You are a babysitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineglow118/pseuds/sunshineglow118
Summary: You are exiled from your Agency after a mysterious break in and move to a normal town. With nothing to do, you take on the position of babysitter of the Membrane Family. Quickly, you notice that the children are in desperate need of love, affection and validation. As your new mission is to protect and provide, you strive to give them the support they need. However, when the alien that got you exiled appears to be in the same town as you, and the apparent rival of Dib- your new charge, you realize you can either kill him or befriend him.This follows the story of Dib, Gaz, and Zim getting the love and attention they deserve from a loving parental unit.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 101
Kudos: 257





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when the world goes on pandemic lockdown. In an effort to ease your stress, and my own, I give you this story. I will confess, I am not sure where it is going, so you'll be on as wild of a ride as I will. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Invader Zim was seething with glee. He had grabbed his goods, the precious metal that only existed within a cold desert wasteland of a place on earth. With Gir’s help, Zim had managed to break into the surprisingly well guarded human base. He took out the guards that he encountered, stuffing them into boxes or behind dumpsters to cover his tracks. 

Zim even managed to make it halfway out of the base before a human entered his path. The human was wearing too much face gear to determine any noticeable features, the protective armor around the human’s body was too difficult to determine sex or weight. 

Zim hissed at the human, crouching low without his PAK legs to try and keep his alienness a cover. The human reacted quickly and quietly, pushing forward onto legs to strike Zim. Zim was outraged but unwilling to give up the metal. He retreated from the human, far faster than the inferior beast that was still in pursuit, however pathetic. 

“Let’s go Gir!” He shouted into his comm, jumping into the Voot cruiser. He trusted his SIR unit, knowing that no matter how far into the atmosphere the Voot went, the robot would somehow make it. Sure enough, Gir smacked against the glass of the Voot, smiling at Zim. Zim rolled the window down, peeling him into the cruiser before pushing forward, away from the humans. 

*

Agent Yellow predicted the series of events that followed the break in. It was your responsibility to guard and patrol the area, stop any threats that compromised the integrity of the mission. You were standing in a dimly light room, the pain in your ribs growing as you stood at command, refusing to look weak to your underlings and superiors. 

There was the option to use your extensive career to curve the blunt of the punishment. Years of service, from a young kid to a moderately aged adult, you were still young!, had earned you a nice spot in the middle of the agents. Being at the top was ill advised as it caused for many rivals and an overall lack of trust from those around you. Finding yourself in the middle of the group of surrounding agents meant you could command respect from those beneath you, excelling their own career while making a connection to the top without working all that hard for it. 

Yes, there was success in your work. 

But it was a lonely job. 

Nights were either spent amongst brothers and sisters in the barracks or in a cold and moldy motel, waiting for the order to strike or...greet the target when the time was right. 

“Agent Yellow,” the man said, “I find myself in an uncomfortable situation. While you protected the lives of our younger comrades, the lifeblood of our success, you have neglected your duty to eliminate all enemy forces.”

“I understand the nature of my transgressions,” Yellow said, breathing kept steady as to not displace the ribs. 

“You shall leave by dawn’s break.” The man said, his name expunged of all records of existence, even cast from mind. “Should we find you within our country.” 

“I understand sir.” 

Yellow, stripped of title and citizenship, walked out the door with a head held high. This was not the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. 

There was no one that greeted you in the halls or the bunk you shared. You gathered a spare set of clothes, the two passports that you had, one of your former home country that needed to be burned, the other- an American passport. The blue cardstock would become worn from use now. 

Yellow burned the small keepings in the mutual fires, erasing all existence.

It was nice, in a way, you thought boarding the plane would take you to your new country, that you could give yourself a funeral. 

*

You were finalizing the sale of your house by the time the plane to America was ready for takeoff. The agent seemed stupidly pleased that the house sold. It was a good buy for the amount of money Agent Yellow acquired over the years of service. Yellow smiled as you handed the flight attendant your ticket. It was a modest house- two bedrooms, an upper and lower bathroom, decent kitchen and an unfinished basement in case things got a little dicey with the transition.

The last thing you needed was an enemy assaulting you in your new house with a _finished_ basement. Getting blood out of a carpet was impossible sometimes. 

The plane ride was another six hours, but a brief breeze through customs since you were a “returning citizen.” 

The long day of travel was beginning to grate on you. You had limited water, poor snacks on the plane, and your ribs were still, frustratingly, broken. Yellow composed the mind with several deep breaths as you got into the car you rented for the next six months. You plugged in the phone to charge and fired up the navigation. 

It was a while until you arrived at your new house, a quant thing in a quaint, perfectly normal, neighborhood. 

There was no furniture in the house, forcing you to sleep on the ground with your bag as a pillow. Again, there were worse things. 

It took three days for everything to come together in the house. You ordered a series of matching furniture sets, making the house look put together, but there was no sign of _life_ in the house. 

There was the obligatory TV, a coffee table, couch and a chair. In the kitchen there were enough dishes to feed a party of eight, cleaning supplies in the cupboard, the pantry neatly stocked and the house smelling of lemon from the artificial cleaner Yellow scrubbed everything down with. 

There was an odd sense in your chest. This was to be an actual _home._ This was not a mission, not even long term. You would have to get a job, and expect to keep it. Make friends, make enemies. 

It was a weird and welcome feeling. 

You grabbed your bottle of whiskey, pouring in two fingers, and made your way to the table with the laptop. Job hunting was a full-time job, but if you looked carefully, Yellow could tell which companies were desperate. 

There was one job that was as enticing as it was a bomb about to go off. 

The pay was fantastic and the employer offered benefits for what would be considered an under the table operation. Further, the employer himself was a figurehead for the government. He would have a job at nighttime, which would allow Yellow something to do before eventually colliding into the ground. The job would also leave him the day to do as you pleased. You could clean the house, run errands, go for a walk...you’ve heard of normal people doing this. 

The only thing that had you hesitating from pulling the trigger (an action that leads to getting shot yourself) was that it was babysitting. There were two charges you would be responsible for taking care of. The first charge is Dib, the firstborn son of the Membrane family who was just on the edge of blooming into manhood. 

Fantastic. 

The second charge under your potential command is a second born, first daughter, of Professor Membrane, Gaz. Her full name was listed on the file, but the nickname category was filled so you used that one. 

There was little information on the children. Yellow hummed. The lack of information implied that the father knew very little about his children. That or there was something the father didn’t want you and other potential sitters to know about. 

You guessed it was a little bit of both. 

There was the added benefit of having trained the underlings. You couldn’t say they were much older than the two children. There was the bonus of not having to train them for life or death scenarios as well. 

Yellow didn’t know what to think of a life that might involve arts and crafts. 

Before Yellow could lose your cool, you tipped the glass back and hit the apply button. 

You grimaced at the sunlight that came in through the window. You topped off your rest of your glass and moved to sit outside. The sun wasn’t out, but the air felt warm with spring. You enjoyed your glass of alcohol sitting on the concrete step. There was a group of children that passed on their bikes, arguing about whatever they deemed important amongst each other. 

Eventually, you were finished your stiff drink. Feeling a little buzzed, you grabbed your wallet, locked the door to your house, and walked to the grocery store you saw as you drove into town. The town worked on a basic grid, only a few streets broke the grid lines with a cul de sac on the edge. Yellow walked along the grid lines, making your way into the part of town that sold food rather than just had houses along the road. There were children littering the street, yellow busses taking them to their homes. Within the grocery store, the children all seemed to congregate towards the candy aisle. 

Yellow maneuvered around the children, focused on the task of making dinner. As you made your way to the produce, something waist height slammed into your sides. You wheezed into the blow, moving back to attack the opponent, but froze at the familiar face. 

“Watch it, _human.”_

Either the alien was stupid or ignorant. 

Oh yes, you knew things. While the footage of the intruders break in was all disabled, there was the event of meeting the alien as he tried to escape. 

What you found most odd was that the alien wasn’t wearing a disguise. Or perhaps, a very poor disguise. The creature was without ears, had green tinted skin and a superiority complex that rivaled many people you’ve met in the past. 

Yellow kept trail of the alien, watching the behaviors of the creature interact with the native species. The creature was offering a constant internal narrative as he ripped into boxes of food to taste them. 

You found yourself laughing at his antics. The creature, Zim, as he revealed, went to the local high school, had a nemesis and a dog. His constant talking was the easiest information grab you ever had waltz into your lap. 

There was a limp in his gait, he favored his left side. If you were to approach from around the corner, you could catch him off guard. 

And yet...

There was a morality problem you were facing. 

First, it was likely if you returned to your government with the head of the creature, you would be welcomed back, further for killing an alien and in such a short time of banishment. It would show commitment and loyalty to the cause. 

However, you were given no orders to return. 

You were drawn out of your thoughts as you heard the creature screech for something on a shelf he could not reach. Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the shelf and grabbed the object the alien was trying to reach.

“You dare steal from ZIM!”

Rather than answer the alien, you dropped the object in his basket and walked away. You hoped that the lack of attention on the creature would draw him closer. At the sounds of shouting for you to stop, you smirked.

“You will cease your running from Zim,” he shouted.

“Oh?” You asked, pretending to browse through the nutrition labels on the two cans of tomato soup in your hands. The alien stomped his foot and ended up climbing the display shelf, knocking a few cans down in the aisle.

“Why did you give that box to Zim?”

“You clearly wanted it enough to screech at the top of your lungs for it,” you replied, putting both cans of soup back to continue to the drinks aisle; not bothering to think about what his species counted as the equivalent of lungs. “Typically people thank those that have helped them.” You looked down at the creature, the same size as a human child. “Though, perhaps, you will learn manners as you grow.”

“Zim shall one day be taller than the Almighty!”

\---

You walked up to the house, a strange glow coming from the back yard that only caused you to pause and think about the rationality of this job for three seconds, before knocking on the door. There was some shouting from within the house, arguments on who was going to grab the door.

_Oh, this is going to be fun._

The door opened to the man of the family. He wore his lab goggles, his cowlick hair swiped back and the lab coat he wore covered his mouth. There were no identifying features that you could distinguish.

“Yellow,” you introduced, holding out your hand in greeting, “a pleasure.”

“I am so glad you are able to watch my children for me,” the father of your charges said, inviting you into his house. There was technology everywhere, the house almost breathing with it. The only organic beings within the house seemed to be the human inhabitants in the kitchen.

Gaz was sitting at the table, a plate of food in front of her, but her eyes were occupied on the video game. Dib was pushing what looked like potatoes around on the plate. A robot hovered around them, spurting out more potatoes and meat onto his plate. There was a TV humming in the distance. Gaz grunted at you in greeting, her thumbs clicking wildly on the keypad. Dib looked up at you once, nodded, then went back to his food.

You weren’t sure what your place was amongst the children other than to care and protect them. The father offered very little instructions, simply stating in an email that you passed the background checks and were hired.

“Well, I must be off,” Professor Membrane said. “I will be back later tonight, not a moment sooner.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You shrugged your shoulders, shutting the door and moved your bag to the side of the wall next to the kids things.

“Hello,” You greeted, smiling at the two. While they were not your younglings that you had to nurture and prepare for all kinds of missions, they were now your charges.

Gaz didn’t seem that interested in interacting with you, which was fine. You trusted her to approach when she was ready. You looked to Dib, the older sibling, who seemed more willing to talk to you.

“Rather than ask you the mundane question of ‘how was school’ I’ll ask you what you are interested in.”

Dib sat up straighter, his eyes shining and hands on the table.

“I like hunting the supernatural,” he said. “I’ve got a few good pictures of bigfoot and some ectoplasm from a ghost that haunts the school bathrooms.”

“Well,” You said with a smile. “I would love to see some evidence if you would be willing to share.”

“Oh, he’s willing.” Gaz growled, her eyes looking up for the first time since you arrived. She was angry at her brother, for what reasons you could only guess. Sibling rivalry, lack of familiar structure, fighting for the extremely limited attention of a father figure, it was anyone’s guess, really.

“Shut up, Gaz,” Dib hissed, his face blushed as he shrunk into his seat.

“You want to tell Yellow about the _alien?_ ” she was arched up on the table, looking to strike her brother. Before that happened, you moved to the fridge, grabbed a soda and three glasses. When you sat back at the table, you changed your seat to sit between the two siblings. Gaz would have to launch herself in front of you to attack her brother.

It was a subtle powerplay, but the glare in her eyes made you think she was onto you.

“But there is an alien!” Dib shouted, your ears wincing in pain. You hummed in consideration, popping the soda tab and dividing the drink evenly amongst the two glasses, keeping the one that was marginally smaller to yourself. You pushed the drinks to the children, Gaz draining hers quickly.

“Please use your inside voice, Dib,” you said, sitting down yourself. Dib flopped down into the chair, his shoulders in line with the table. “Come on, you can’t eat like that.”

“You should do the airplane for him, since he’s such a baby.”

“I don’t know, Gaz,” you said. “Maybe I should do an airplane for you. You have yet to eat.”

Gaz had her full attention on you, her fingers tense against the game.

Oh, these children had some impulse issues. You could see it vividly with Gaz. Her jaw was tense with barely contained restraint. The glare implied she was imagining different ways of ripping you open.

This was going to be as interesting as it would be fun.

You picked up your own fork, content to let the awkwardness simmer to a low boiling point as Gaz debated her next move. You put the potatoes in your mouth, chewing the different textures. Some parts were gummy, others raw and hard to digest. The starch vegetable was poorly prepared, lacked flavor and any semblance of care. Overall, though, it was not the worst thing you had eaten.

It was, in fact, possible to survive on Crayons. It wasn’t a great existence, or mission, but it was possible, and you survived.

There was some mystery meat on the plate, slathered in a sauce that was more there to cover up the poor flavor. You ate that too, almost with a smile, as the children looked at you with poorly disguised horror from Dib and glee from Gaz.

When you were finished your plate, the children’s still untouched, you gathered all three of them and put them in the sink.

“Don’t leave the table, children,” you said, moving to the fridge. There was a steak in there, enough for both of them to share. In the crisper drawer, there were some green vegetables, asparagus. “Let me make you something with some flavor.”

The children were looking at you in confusion as you moved around the kitchen.

“Would you like to help?” you asked. These two were likely starved for any form of affection- given Gaz’s adverse reaction to it and Dib’s need for validation. Gaz growled again and went back to her game. Dib stayed in his chair. You shrugged, going about preparing the food.

When the steak hit the hot skillet, you sensed Dib by your side.

The boy was looking in the skillet, watching the reaction of heat sear the bottom of the steak. His hair was oily and face beginning to break out in acne. Without a parent role, it was unlikely he changed his child routine of bathing to the more demanding needs of a teenage boy. Rather than address that now, you pointed to the heat.

“You’ll want your pan to be hot when you put your protein in the pan,” you explained. “You can test the method by hovering your hand above the surface or putting a drop of water in.”

“How did you know it was ready?” he asked.

“I could feel the heat from here.” You handed him the asparagus. “Could you rinse those and snap off the white parts on the bottom. We don’t eat them because they are too fibrous. And they don’t taste all that good.”

Dib did as you asked, taking to his task with seriousness. Gaz was still at the table, playing on her game. Dib brought over the asparagus, cleaned and ends snapped. You smiled at him.

“Good job, Dib, thank you.” You smiled at his own, waving him closer to the pan. “Now, see how the meat as cooked up to the sides? Good, now we can flip, be careful of the splatter now, and then add the veggies.” You pushed him back with your arm, deflecting him from the spray of oil that popped from the fats in the steak. The burning only lasted for a moment against your skin.

You moved away from the burner to hunt down some cutlery.

“What about the food?” Dib cried, looking at the burner with some fear. You clicked the tongs in your hand and handed them over to him.

“It doesn’t need any attention. Let the food do it’s thing.” You found the plates stored next to the glasses, napkins next to the fridge. You moved and set the table for three.

“Dib, Gaz, please wash up before dinner.”

Dib went without hesitation, racing to the upper floor on all fours. Gaz glared at you, you held eye contact. Eye contact was an important powerplay; amongst enemies, it determined who was weaker before the fight. With friends, it showed the depth of a bond- how long two people could look at each other in the window of the soul. In social gatherings, there was a strange human behavior: all humans will direct their eyes to the most powerful person in the room. Searching for the leader of a group was as easy as watching who others looked at the most. Gaz had stared her brother down several times, you had yielded eye contact to her to not avoid confrontation.

Now, you held her eyes. She swallowed a dry throat when you did not blink after she did, trying to regain her lost ground. You said nothing as she sneered at you. When she finally gave a dramatic sigh, pushing the chair back so it made a sound against the floor.

“Thank you.” You turned back to the meat on the pan, removing it so it had time to rest. The vegetables were on the children’s plates, divided between the two. You washed their glasses, filled them with water and by the time the steak was split in two, the kids were at the table.

Gaz went to grab her game.

“I ask that you not play video games while we eat.”

“Request denied.”

“Then starve.” And you removed the food from her place. When Dib began to puff his chest, you signaled for him to stand down with a raised hand, your eyes glued to Gaz. The first introduction to all recruits determined the course of training. Should a leader fail to dictate troops correctly, the troops would push for any perceived weakness.

Give an order, expect it to be followed, follow up with reward or consequence.

Gaz looked like she was going to argue your claim, perhaps try and tattle on her father for neglecting to feed his child, but she blushed when her stomach growled loudly. Again, from the corner of your eye, Dib looked like he was going to laugh at her, but you raised your hand again.

“Fine,” she said, clicking a few buttons to save her game, and put it to the side.

“Thank you,” you said, passing her food back.

The awkwardness was back, filling the void in the silence, again ignored. Dib was practically inhaling his food like some animal.

These kids needed some work but you could only correct so many things in an evening.

“So, Dib,” you said, hoping some conversation would get him to not eat and breathe at the same time. “The alien?”

“He’s from this planet called _Irk,_ and he is an _Irken_ soldier here to invade and take over the world! Then, he plans on delivering the Earth to his leaders, the Almighty Tallest. There are two of them, I’ve seen!” He was practically vibrating in his seat. His information seemed good too. It was likely Zim gave it all to Dib in an effort to scare the boy and promote his own ego that you witnessed at the store. “And I am the only one that believes he exists! Except for Gaz-“

“It’s not like Zim ever succeeds.”

“I have to protect the earth from him. We are _mortal enemies.”_

Now there was something that gave you pause; the way Dib spoke of the relationship he had with the alien Zim made you think it could bud into something more.

“Why don’t you just make out with him already?”

Seems that Gaz had seen what you suspected.

Rather than correct Gaz once again, you turned to Dib.

“It’s alright if you have feelings for another boy your age Dib.”

Dib managed to turn just as bright pink as the steak had been before you cooked it.

“Gaz, will you tell me what video game you were playing? Was it a third or first person shooter?” This time her gaze wasn’t malicious but cautious. Her behavior reminded you of a stray dog; after so long alone, it became aggressive in place of fear towards those trying to help. Feeding a scared dog was the easiest way to build trust.

Humans thought with their bellies just as much as any animal.

“Piggy Slayer three,” she said, not growled (success). “It’s a third person shooter. I have to get through this level to get a key to defeat the piggy boss.” She paused, twiddling her fork around. “I just got this really awesome sword, with a bunch of mana before I go to the final boss.”

“That’s great!” You praised. The tension in the room deflated a bit.

“Since we are all here,” you said. “I wanted you to tell me what you expect from me and what I expect from you. It seems your dad wants me here three days a week, he’s given me a mandatory bed time but is there anything that you expect of me?”

“What do you mean?” Dib asked as Gaz shut down again, her arms folded and back against the chair.

“Well,” you said, not going to call her out. “I have some expectations of you two. That we get along, for starters. I don’t want any bad blood in the house, it’s difficult to scrape off the walls. If we are having a problem, I expect you both to feel comfortable talking to me about it. Then, we can solve it together before any bad feelings start. That is not to say, however, I am going to let you both walk all over me. While you are under my care, I am to protect and provide. That being said:

“Do you have any food preferences? Do you want a cooked meal each night? I would be happy to teach you both how to cook- it’s a vital part of being an adult.

“I also want to know if you have any boundaries on touch. Some people don’t like being hugged. I don’t like having my face touched, at all. I ask that you respect my boundaries as I would yours. Infringe upon them and be met with consequences.” You smiled at them both.

Some might consider this assassin tactics, making yourself seem weaker as you negotiated. In all honesty, it was People Management 101.

“I wouldn’t mind if you cooked for us,” _Gaz_ said, making you smile down at her.

“Thank you, Gaz.”

Gaz preened a bit under your thanks.

That was another thing; these children were cast aside in the name of _science._ It made Dib search for any form of attention he could get while Gaz exiled herself from it completely. Giving them both praise when deserved made you a stabilizing agent of security to them. You had disciplined both of them with words, yet not held it against them.

Bad blood was _beyond_ difficult to remove from walls.

Especially the emotional kind, that shit leaves a stain.

“This was really good, Yellow,” Dib said, pushing his plate back.

Table manners, the next task.

“Thank you, Dib,” you said, gathering their empty plates. “Gaz, could you help me dry the dishes.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Dib did help make your dinner,” you explained moving to the sink. “And because I asked nicely.”

Gaz debated for a second, but hopped out of her chair. This time without any scraping on the ground. Dishes didn’t take long with Gaz’ aid as she knew where everything went.

“Do you have any homework?”

“Completed it at school,” Gaz replied.

“Only a little,” Dib confessed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Well, if you want help, I could try and assist you.” You went to your bag and pulled out your laptop, letting it begin the process of warming up.

“Can I show you my room first?” You smiled at Dib and nodded. He took your hand and pulled you up the stairs. The little hallway had four doors, one open to the bathroom, two with sheets of paper on the doors, _Gaz’s room- STAY AWAY DIB_ and _Dib’s Room._ Dib lead you into the room marked as his.

There were little green glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, his bed poorly made and clothes scattered around. The desk shoved next to his closet was piled with circuitry and monitors, different types of technology that you didn’t know about.

“Might I see your supernatural collection?” Dib jumped up onto his bed and reached for a book overflowing with paper.

“This is hair that I found in the park behind the oil tankers- I think that bigfoot rests there in the winter. And _this_ is a werewolf fang that I stole after it was fighting a giant robot monkey.”

“Your notes are very organized,” you commented. Each specimen of evidence was neatly put in the book, little notes attached to the sides of the scrapbook that had the date, time and location of where he found it. Some of the places he went into that had ghosts even had a scale schematic of the building. As he spoke about different ghosts he found, you noticed that his fascination went beyond the supernatural but to the astrophysical.

“Dib,” you commented, eyes caught on a series of equations that projected the next lunar eclipse and the location the shadow would take across the planet sketched onto a globe map. “This is extremely complex.” Your finger traced the predicted path of the shadow. “You must be very proud of yourself.”

Dib awkwardly chuckled, closing the book and putting it on the desk.

“Do you really believe there are aliens?” he asked.

“I think it’s ignorant for humans to be the sole intelligent creature within the expanse of the universe.”

“This alien isn’t all that intelligent.”

“Human’s aren’t either, Dib. We kill and pollute and conquer.” You paused, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. “Perhaps you and your alien Zim have more in common than you think.”

“So, you really believe me?” Dib asked, looking up at you with big doe eyes. “But I haven’t shown you any evidence.” 

You smiled at him, recognizing his need to be _seen_ rather than grapple with his obsession of the alien.

“I believe you,” you said.

Dib’s smile grew wider than he launched himself at you, arms outstretched. You squeezed him against you as he soaked in your warmth.

The kid was oddly muscular under the trench coat he wore. You saw no evidence of sporting equipment in his room. Perhaps him fighting the alien would become a larger problem for you than you thought.

“Now how about that homework?”

The groan he gave mimicked his sister to the point it had you laughing.

*

Your charges were safe in their beds, both asleep. When they were asleep for an hour, therefore entering the stages of REM, you moved about the house. Cameras in the house were not new for you, and their were obvious ones that you ignored. You suspected there were at least three hidden cameras about the house, but suspected that Professor Membrane only looked at them if there was an incident given the amount of dust covering the lenses.

The house was clean, thanks to the numerous robots wheeling about.

There was little for you to do other than wait for Professor Membrane to arrive back home. He was due at midnight, but when one passed without any sound of a car engine, you were ready to bunker in for the night on the couch. An alarm was set on your phone for an early wake up so the kids could have breakfast.

You perked up when you heard a car rumble close to the house. Moving quietly, already beginning to memorize parts of the house that squeaked or croaked under pressure, you checked the window. You fell at ease when you saw the professor exit his car and walk to the door.

“Good morning!” he announced.

“Indeed.” You moved from the table with your laptop and to the man. “I would politely request you return to your house at the given time or send me a message of your late departure.”

“Ah, yes, well,” he rubbed the back of his head, a trait his son inherited, it seemed. It appeared the man was not used to constructive criticism either. “I will do better next time.”

You nodded your head to the man, gathering your belongings.

“We shall see,” you said. You dipped your head goodnight and walked back to your home, crashing on the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

You slept in a bit later than you planned due to the Professor’s late arrival but you had little plans anyway. You got out of bed, made it and ate a modest breakfast.

After a four-mile run, you showered and ate lunch.

Then napped again.

Routine kept everything smooth.

By four, you were bored. The transition from Agent to Babysitter left you a bit restless. Every moment of the day was filled with things to do when you were an Agent, now, there was all this empty space. The lack of structure was throwing you off a bit.

You went back outside for a walk, exploring the neighborhood this time.

That was when you saw the alien limping back to an outrageous house. You rolled your eyes at the stupidity and ignorance of your own race, making your way to the alien.

“Hello Zim,” you greeted, scaring the creature from his internal monologue. He hissed, something expelling from his backpack to stab you. You were on the defensive, dodging the weapons that he was now balanced on, hissing.

“Human,” he greeted, raised at eye level. “Run in fear.”

“You’re injured,” you stated, raising your hands in an innocent gesture.

“ _LIES!”_ even his backpack stilts seemed overbalanced in an effort to remove pressure from a wound.

“You’ve been injured in your spine,” you stated. The alien charged you, pinning you to the floor with his sharp blades. His gloved hands went and touched your eyes, being relatively careful as he pulled back the lids and inspected them. Your body was stiff, ready to put your foot in his chest cavity to launch him off you should he try anything. Yet, he seemed more curious with your eyes than malicious, pulling at your eyebrows until a hair pulled free with a light wince.

“You cannot see through Zim.”

“That is true,” you offered, slowly extracting yourself from his weapons. He pulled off you, his weapons collapsing into his not backpack until he rested on the ground.

“How were you aware then?” he hissed, six feet away from you. The distance was long enough you suspected he could easily stab you with his other worldly weapons, and far enough from you that you would either have to rush the alien or draw a gun to stop him.

The information Dib gave you made you hope you could come to an agreement or mutual understanding. Should Zim really be an alien intent on conquering earth, then you had to find where your morals fit in all that. Further, if there was a divine intelligence to the vastness of the Universe, it seemed a little odd that the alien that got you exiled also lived in the area you just moved to.

“I was a soldier.”

Zim took a half step back.

“You are no longer?” he asked, you shook your head with a polite smile.

“I have some medical knowledge. Spinal injuries are painful and difficult to address on your own.”

“I will not follow you into your human nest.” Zim got closer to you. “And I won’t let you into my base either!”

“I understand the need to protect orders from a commander.” You dropped a knee to the ground, the action looking less threatening as you rooted for some paper. You wrote your name, your address and your phone number. “In case you want to reminisce over battles won.”

Zim was obviously protective over his base and information; being an alien required secrecy.

“Zim _may_ call on you tonight,” he said, reading over the paper. “Yellow.” He hummed, looking at you very closely. You allowed him to approach, your eyes level now that you were kneeling on the pavement. The alien, Irken, reached his hand out to inspect you again. You noticed the three fingers, lack of ears, and the lining on the seam of his eyes that held contacts. As he touched your hair, feeling around the base of your ears, you noticed this his own hair was false, and shifting around like there was something under it.

You grabbed the Irken’s wrist and snarled at him when he pulled your hair. The alien flinched but was held captive in your wrist. You let him go gently, no harm done, a simple warning not to pull too hard.

“So,” you said, rising from the ground, brushing the dirt off your knees. “I’m thinking of making waffles tonight, do you want to-“

There was an explosion coming from what had to be the aliens base. You put your fists up towards your face, watching what looked to be a green rocket approaching you.

It was moving to fast for you to do anything. Something was going to kill you one day- if it was an alien rocket you at least got the bragging rights of dying in a glorious way.

But the rocket was a dog, that skidded to a stop, leaving little flames in the wake of the halt.

“WAFFLES!” the stuffed dog screamed as loud as the alien did. The dog looked between you and Zim so quickly it seemed his face was a blur as he shook with excitement. “We’re having WAFFLES!”

“And who is this cutie?” you asked, kneeling down to pet the poorly disguised robot. You were beginning to wonder if Zim’s people or species was as poor at disguising themselves as these two clearly were.

“Gir,” the dog said, “reporting for duty.”

“No Gir,” Zim chastised. “We do not go to human’s homes for-“

He was cut off by gross and exuberant cries, saliva and tears all over the floor. It almost had you laughing out loud in the middle of the street.

“Alright! Alright!” Zim sighed, touching his forehead and pulling his face down. As he did so, you could see the little bit of red that was underneath the contact lens.

“Perfect!” you said. “I’ll leave you to your healing. I look forward to seeing you in two hours.” Before they both left, you asked: “any preferences to the kind of waffles.”

“The ones without soap!” he yelled from the step by his door. The door opened up, two other robots greeting him with a ‘hello son.’

Oh no. All these children seemed to have no parents to guide them.

You were doomed.

Regardless of your inevitable death, you walked back to your house with a small smile. There was nothing to clean up since you haven’t lived in the home long enough to need to clean it. However, it gave you something to do and you were unaware if the people living in the house before you cleaned before they left.

By the time you were finished dusting, moping and cleaning the counters and windows with **ultimate germ cleaner** , you had a half hour before Zim arrived at your house. That left you with enough time to gather the ingredients.

There was a thing about leaving the Agency- you were allowed to have goods. For the first time, dinners that you made weren’t to impress a client or target, or at fancy places for the same reason. They were to feed you for no other reason than feeding. Now that you had charges and a guest, the fun of making food was to build a bond with people. You found it humorous how easy humans were to manipulate. Every human needed food, often eating at least three times a day. With a maintenance of the body having to repeat so often, food was an extremely easy way to manipulate people into liking you. The breaking of bread existed in all cultures around the globe. Sharing a meal was one of the few things that humans across the world engaged in, however different their table manners culturally demanded.

Some people called it friendship or family.

Zim arrived at your house with a crash through the window that had you throwing a moderate sized knife in his direction. Had he not ducked down, you would’ve hit him. Gir was laughing, clapping his hands together while repeating: “do it again.”

“Next time,” you said, pulling the knife from the wall. “I ask you use the door.” You walked back into the kitchen, the timer on the waffle maker going off. Zim didn’t comment but moved to sit at the table. “Feel free to remove the disguise if it pleases you.” You added as you removed a waffle from the maker, adding the last of the batter.

“Where you from Zim?” You asked as you sliced strawberries to go with the waffles.

“Down the street,” he said after a minute. Gir wheeled himself to an open spot on the table, saliva dripping from his tongue. You pulled the large stack of waffles out and put them on the table with the butter, syrup and the strawberries. Gir looked ready to launch himself towards the food, but you dished him some waffles before he managed to further damage the house.

“How was school?” you asked, falling into your new routine.

“The humans are woefully intelligent.” Zim took a bite of the waffles and almost…purred. He didn’t seem to catch the noise as he continued to eat. You smiled, serving yourself some food and fruit.

“Once, Zim was responsible for the destruction of an entire food court nation!” Zim exclaimed, standing on his chair with his fork raised like a weapon. You nodded your head, still chewing on the waffle in your mouth. “It was quite glorious, my escape,” he poured more syrup onto his waffles, “when my leaders saw me again, they were so happy, they sent me on this mission.”

“So you’re in the works of a mission?” you asked. You looked at the clock, seeing it was a reasonable time for a drink. Of course, you would make one for your guest, you had manners. You spooned out some hot chocolate powder into three mugs, then added some hot milk to the mugs that was ready. While the two at the table were eating the waffles, you slipped something stiffer in your own mug. You delivered the mugs san alcohol to your guests, then went back for your own.

Gir was squealing with joy at the hot chocolate drink in front of him, holding the mug between his paws as he drank.

“You should find yourself honored, human,” Zim said, ripping into a larger piece of waffle. “Not many irken soldiers dine with their future slaves.”

“Then I shall consider it the highest of honors,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink, the peppermint schnapps a fantastic addition to hot chocolate.

“Yes,” he hissed, reaching forward to pile more waffles onto his plate, then onto Gir’s. You picked up the bowl of strawberries and dished some out to the robot as he was slathering the fried dough in syrup. You offered them to Zim, who looked at them skeptically.

“Not much human food edible by your standards?”

“No,” Zim said, poking at the little slice. He picked it up in his gloves, licked it, waited, then popped it into his mouth. Two chews in, he dumped the remainder of the bowl onto his plate- making you smile.

Zim was beginning to see you as a source of sustenance, and therefore, unlikely to bring you harm if you continued to provide. Further, feeding his robot (odd, but not the strangest thing you’ve seen) seemed to win you favor as well.

“The pollution on this planet has made it impossible for me to eat many things.”

“Well,” you said. “I’ve been a human for a while, maybe I can help you.”

“And why would you do that?” He asked, pointing a fork at you. You ignored his threats by eating a large chunk of waffle, chewing it slowly until he sat back down to resume eating.

“Think of it as a mission to appease the future overlord of our planet.”

“Yes,” he hissed, rubbing his hands together in a cliché fashion. “I do believe Zim will allow this.”

As you conversed, you found that the Irken couldn’t eat anything that had meat or saturated in animal byproduct fats. There was butter in the waffles, but you suspected that the other ingredients made it palpable for him to consume.

It seemed that you would have to prepare more vegetarian diets- both for Zim and the charges at the Membrane house.

“Zim will be leaving now,” he announced, grabbing Gir by the top of his dog head and plopping him on the ground. “Zim will see you later!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him as he exited. You rolled your eyes fondly. Had he been human, you would’ve been disgraced at his manners.

But he seemed to lack assimilation with the human race. Then again, that was a difficult thing that took you a year of training to understand. The irken was in class with Dib, so he also had the excuse of being a child.

-

Wednesday passed with little issue. Dib and Gaz were still cautious around you; Gaz trying to test her boundaries with the level of discipline you gave. This time, it was Gaz that helped you cook dinner and Dib that cleaned up. Gaz still gave you death glares, and threatened to rearrange your organs. To which you replied:

“Gaz, I know you are an intelligent young woman. You can threaten better than that.”

Both she and Dib were stunned into silence until you broke it with a quick laugh, handing them both a brownie after dinner.

It was on Thursday that things got strange.

You weren’t scheduled to watch the kids on Thursday’s. Zim, who saw you on your morning run, asked on behalf of Gir if you could make dinner again. You agreed, inviting him over at six. The day passed easily, you cleaned since you had little to do, went on another walk, even watched TV.

Gir and Zim were already in the house, wandering about the lower floor. Gir grabbed the TV remote and flicked onto one channel that had his attention since he sat on the couch. Zim seemed curious about your house, opening drawers, looking under things. You allowed him to browse as he pleased, all the important weapons hidden within the drywall, vents, airducts, and floorboards.

“Dinner!” you announced, leaving the extras in the kitchen as you plated food for them. Gir was already parked on his chair, happily bouncing as Zim took his own seat. “I know it’s not Tuesday, but Taco Thursday works too.”

As Gir shouted his excitement, to which you rubbed his forehead until he calmed, Zim was looking at the tacos.

“I cannot eat meat,” he glared at you, reminding you of Gaz. You laughed at the relation of glares.

“I found a vegetarian taco recipe,” you said, diving into the food with a large bite. Gir had already dove into his taco, seeming to take more time with eating than he did the previous day. Zim slowly took a bite of his, with the same caution as he did the strawberries, then ate with enthusiasm.

Just as you were finished your first taco, you heard a knock at the door. Other than Zim, you weren’t expecting guests. You raised your hand for Zim to stand down, slowly making your way to the door. There were two shadows at your door. At the second knock, this one more insistent, you dropped your guard slightly.

When you opened the door you were surprised to see Dib and Gaz at the doorstep.

“Dad hasn’t been home and Foodie had some malfunctions,” Dib said, rubbing his head. You opened the door to them both, preparing for the adverse reaction the two boys would have.

“You!” Zim shouted, pointing at Dib from where he now stood on the chair.

“Zim!” Dib shouted back. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the door. “He’s an alien, Yellow! The one I was telling you about! You can’t trust him.”

You freed yourself from Dib, amused to see that Gaz had walked into the house and went towards the kitchen. It seemed the rivalry was between the boys, then.

“I’m aware of his…status.” You said to Dib. You ushered him in, closing the door before any other people would start watching you. “Zim has been a good guest as I have been host. He and I have no reason to war.”

“Other than you are human.”

“A human who has fed you,” you replied to him. He was still standing on the chair. “Sit down,” you ordered, your voice thick with authority. Zim backed down quickly. Dib looked like he was about to comment, but you beat him too it by guiding him closer to the table.

“There will be absolutely _no_ infighting while you two are within my presence,” you ordered, looking both of them in the eye. “Not while I am here, nor while I am at the Membrane household. Do I make myself clear?”

Dib and Zim traded glares but both relented. You smiled, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Thank you both.” You went to pull up another two chairs for your new guests, then walked into the kitchen to prepare more food. “It shows a great level of maturity to come to neutral ground as rivals.” You knew that all of the children now at your table were starved for any form of positive attention. Gaz’s prickliness had all the emotional defenses of a cactus protecting the sweet flesh behind the spines. Zim’s superiority complex was formed out of being a lesser person of his race. Dib’s need for attention screamed of loneliness.

Well, you were hired to provide support and protection. The easiest way to do that was to make them all allies.

Breaking bread was the simplest way to go about that.

The odd series of events, from Zim breaking into your former Agency, becoming a babysitter, finding Zim again, served to be the most interesting freelance mission you’ve engaged in some time.

You brought more tacos to the Membrane children, distributing them before Gir got them in his little mittens.

This was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This is another challenging one for me as I've never written in 2nd POV/Reader insert so thank you for all those that commented- you've really inspired me to continue to write. 
> 
> I wanted to tell you all that I spent the better part of my weekend crafting the outline of the story so now all that is left is the writing part! 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Zim was visually upset when he walked into your house, another trip to Home Depot in your future as you picked up the pieces of the broken door handle. You debated growling at him, but with his pacing and muttering to himself, you ignored it. Rather than bother Zim from his musings, you patted the seat next to you on the couch, where you were watching a baking show on Netflix. 

Zim stopped his pacing when you relaxed, coming closer to you. You pat the seat again, an open invitation that he took the second time you sent it off. 

“What’s bothering you today?” You asked, just as the baker was adding their second tier on their cake. 

“The insolent school is having another _parent-teacher_ function tomorrow night.” 

That was odd. Today was Tuesday. Professor Membrane did not mention the previous day when you were with the children that he would be attending the conferences. Perhaps it was just the parent’s going alone. You hoped, for the human children’s sake. 

“The last time Zim brought his parental decoys to the school,” he winced. “It did not go well.” 

“What’s your plan?”

“My _plan_ was to avoid the entire thing,” he hissed, arching towards you. He was in your personal space bubble, but you rolled your eyes and sat back, amused by his power play. “But the _horrible_ teacher roped Zim into another.” 

In the span of the two-weeks that you had babysat the Membrane children, Zim coming on the weekdays you were off, he had gradually removed components of his disguise. By observing you learned he had antenna. These seemed to be multipurpose. Their primary function was hearing, or sound based: he would flick his antenna in the direction of sound or towards something sweet he smelled. His smell sensors seemed to be linked to his mouth through the tongue as well, but humans were no different. Zim just had a stronger threshold for interpreting scents through his mouth. 

They were also an indicator on his mood. When he was agitated, they were pinned half way over his head, alert had them pointing forward, worried or embarrassed down like eyes. 

Currently, his antenna were shifting from their agitated state to down. He was looking up at you, rubbing his hands together, a human trait he might have picked up. Knowing that rushing the alien would only push him towards denial, you continued to watch your show, pushing the bowl of popcorn between you should he want some. 

It was in the next commercial break that he shot up on the couch. You looked up at him. 

“You _will_ honor Zim with your presence at this parent-teacher night.” 

You barked out a laugh. 

“You want to try that again?” 

Had he come in through the front door like a proper invader, you might have conceded to his claim, but alas. If you gave your trainees an inch, they would feel the need to take a mile. 

Zim laughed sheepishly, sitting back down on the couch as he rubbed his fingers together. You crossed your legs under you on the couch, sitting the bowl of popcorn comfortably in your lap, secure from any random jumping. 

“Zim demands… _requests!_ Requests, that you attend this parent-teacher human meeting on his behalf.” You put your finger to your lip, humming for a moment in consideration just to make him sweat. 

“Request granted,” you caught him before he jumped up on the couch again, pulling him to your side in a hostage-cuddle so he wouldn’t knock the popcorn around. “I will pick you up at your base at seven.”

“Excellent,” Zim hissed, rubbing his hands together with a gleeful smile. “Zim must leave to prepare…something.” He said, but made no move to get up when the show resumed from its commercial break. You two sat in mild silence, answering his questions as they popped up, on the couch. As the show rolled into another episode, Zim stayed close to your side, burrowing a bit deeper to catch the warmth from your human skin. Half-way into the episode, you asked,

“I thought you had to prepare something.”

Zim hummed, his attention fixed on the numerous humans running around each other to build a cake large enough to meet the judges requirements while time ticked away. 

“Zim is learning human culture.” 

If you could even call it that. 

You allowed it, further deepening your bond with the alien through touch. When the second episode ended, Zim stood up and stretched. 

“I will see you tomorrow Zim.” 

“Goodbye! Yellow-human,” he sang, skipping out of the door. 

At least he was learning to say goodbye. Maybe later he would learn to say please and thank you. 

*

You knocked at the door of the Membrane household, smiling down at Dib as he opened the door. Immediately, by his morose ‘hello’ you could tell something was wrong. There was tension in the air, surrounding the lower floor of the house. You were sure there was no threat in the house, other than the family within it. Professor Membrane was standing at his kitchen work bench, firing away at sensors, too stuck in his work to notice your arrival. 

Patting Dib on the back, you went about your business as if the man were not here. You washed up at the sink, pushing Foodie away before he could steal and ruin the goods in the refrigerator. The robot was growing angry at you, how you replaced his purpose in life. On an objective level, you could understand. He stayed in his charger for the most part, glaring at you. But this time seemed to be different, perhaps because of the presence of its creator. It grabbed a knife, wheeling over to you. 

“Dad!” Dib shouted as you dodged the first swing. You brought your hand up in defense, blocking the knife before it could stab you in the head. Twisting your wrist had the robot sinking to the ground with your forward momentum, the wheels caught between the change of carpet and linoleum of the kitchen. You brought the machine down to the ground, pinning it just as the Professor arrived to turn it off with some sort of tazer. 

“Yellow!” Professor Membrane greeted, giving you an arm. You took it, hauling yourself off the floor with the knife used against you. 

“Good evening, Professor.” You walked back to the kitchen, not worried about the machine. Afterall, most accidents happen in the kitchen. “Would you like me to prepare you dinner before you accompany the children to parent-teacher night?” 

That frozen feeling wasn’t coming from the freezer. Dib and Gaz both stormed off up the stairs, to their rooms if the slamming doors was any indication. As their rage was not directed at you, you went about your work, preparing them dinner. The knife that Foodie attempted to kill you with was sharp enough to cut through the vegetables you were dicing. 

“There is a highly unstable source at the Labs,” Professor Membrane began, using the classic approach of justifying a bail-out before the request. This would put you in the position to help, that by helping Professor Membrane, you would be helping the good of the community. Your knife cuts were smooth and perfect, set aside for when you would need them. “I ask that you would be willing to represent me in my place, a high honor as I now see how capable you are of taking care of my children.”

The two of you spared a glance at Foodie, still smoking on the floor. 

“I agree on the grounds you provide a contract of paper, electronic and blood rune.” Professor Membrane clapped you on the shoulder, thanking you as he went to collect the necessary paperwork. 

He returned with a basic contract, stating that his reason of absence was: **SCIENCE** and he appointed Yellow to be his representative of free and willing mind. The representative, if signed, accepted all responsibilities of the children in place of a parent. There was an electronic copy next to you. 

“Blood Rune is simply scientifically impossible,” he laughed, pushing the two contracts forward. You dropped the marinated meat into the pan, the smell wafting through the house. The smell no doubt would summon Dib from his room first. You held a small needle to the professor. 

“I am simply providing a way to disguise a blood sample without worrying queasy people.” 

The professor stood in front of you for a second, watching you sign the paper, the electronic copy, then dot a drip of your blood over your name. 

“Brilliant disguise of science using myth.” He took the needle from your hand and pricked his own finger, the blood falling with a splash over his signature. You heard a ping from your phone over by your bag, likely the email copy of the contract. 

“That’s what most myths are.” He didn’t hear you as he walked to the door. 

  
“Goodbye children. Be good for Yellow,” he shouted at the bottom of the stairs, then left the house. 

Dinner didn’t take long to make but it was quieter as you did not have to teach Dib or Gaz what you were doing. 

“Five minutes!” you shouted. It seemed to be all the signal Dib needed to emerge from his room, sliding down the stairs on the railing. He ran up to you, no long carrying his anger with him. 

“What’s for dinner?” He asked. 

“Fish and veg,” you said, serving him a portion. You didn’t hear Gaz emerge from her room and debated what to do. “Dib,” you said, mind made up. When your oldest charge looked at you from the table you smiled. “On this occasion, I will allow you to eat and watch TV. Gaz needs someone to deliver her dinner.” 

“Awww Yes!” He shouted, picking up his plate and darting over to the couch. You heard the beginning intro song to _Mysterious Mysteries_ as you put food on a plate for Gaz. You filled a glass of water for her, grabbed her dinner, and walked up the stairs. 

When you approached her door, you saw the shadow looming over the crack between the floor. You knocked, feeling that Gaz already knew you were in front of the door. You knocked again when there was no response. “Gaz. I have dinner for you.” 

No response. 

“I know you don’t want to talk but I still want you to eat. I won’t do the food the disservice of putting it on the ground so won’t you open up?” 

The door slammed open, she almost panting with rage in the threshold. 

“You talk as much as the idiots.” 

“Indeed.” 

It was a criticism while you were an agent, the ability to run your mouth. The key was knowing when silence would benefit a person where words would not. You handed her the food, nodding your head in respect, then walked away at an even pace to where your dinner was waiting downstairs. 

“Why are you like this?” she growled, still in the doorway with both hands full. You turned and looked at her innocently. 

“Like what, Gaz?”

“ _Honest!”_ She almost dropped her food with her outcry, making you rush to catch it. You gathered the food in your hands, balancing it as you stood. 

“Allow me to set this inside.” You walked into Gaz’s room only when she stood to aside at her own command. You nodded respect to her as you entered her domain. Your task was to set the food down and leave. 

“Just stop!” she screamed, now standing on the bed in an attempt to tower over you. “What do you gain, huh?” she pushed your shoulder back. You allowed it, this was her territory and while you were bringing her food, she was emotionally compromised. You allowed her to keep poking you as she asked you questions, her lip quivering and eyes refusing to release water. “Why are you like this? You don’t even like us! What is your play?” 

When you were out of her room and she went to poke, this time you raised your hand to deflect her. You simply blocked her blow, but the lack of a response on your part shocked her into stillness. You dropped your guard since Gaz no longer seemed to be on the attack. 

“I’m evil, Gaz,” you confessed. “Do you want to see how I do it?” She was skeptical outside her room but maybe it was your smile, like you were ready to eat the world alive as it screamed. 

She gave one silent nod. 

“Eat your food, prepare for parent-teacher night, and follow my lead.” 

The three of you ate in separate rooms for the first time since you were hired. While you had only babysat the children a handful of times, you noticed a difference. Surprisingly, you did not have a life outside of your charges. Dib and Gaz occupied the majority of the work week in the evenings while Zim and Gir tended to come over the other two nights. The lack of socialization wouldn’t kill you but slowly deteriorate your human brain. 

You needed more adult friends. 

Ugh. 

You checked the clock, shouting at the children to bring their dishes in so you could clean them. Dib brought his over during a commercial break, Gaz quickly deposited her dishes to your hand with a meek thank you, before she retreated to her room again. You washed the dishes, the scalding water burning off whatever germs stuck to the surface and your first dermal layer on your hands. As the three of you went to the car, an umbrella over your head as Dib made a mad dash for the car, you took Gaz’s hand. 

“Time to be evil,” you said, walking outside, shielded from the rain. “I need you to sit in the way back of the car for this to work.” 

She regarded you with a raised eye, but nodded. When Dib piled into the backseat, having already won the argument against him sitting shotgun the previous car ride, he was suspicious.

“Just be glad I’m not kicking you in the head,” Gaz said, as if sensing his question. Dib got quiet as you boarded the car just before the rain started to dump out of the car. You drove on your way to the school, but took a right where you should’ve a left. 

“The faster way is that way,” Dib chimed in, pointing to the next turn.

Your grin got wider as you offered no explanation to taking an alternative route. Dib began to tense, beginning to recognize where you were going but quiet because- you couldn’t possibly…right?...no. 

When you parked the car in front of the large house at the cul de sak, you exited the car before Dib could protest. Grabbing your umbrella, you walked past the gnomes, ignoring their red eyes locking lazers onto you and knocked. The door opened and showed you the reason for Zim’s fears. As the mom unit tried to brush your teeth, you deflected the arm with the umbrella, ripping it off and tossing it inside. Gir, who was sitting on the couch, noticed the toss and fetched. Zim emerged from the floor, literally, the ground parted with a yawn, and he marched to you. You offered him the umbrella, him marveling at the genius of it. 

“Where can I find myself something like this?” 

“I have several. When I drop you off later tonight, you can keep it.” Zim was at the van, the dark windows preventing him from seeing the passengers from within. You grabbed the handle and popped the car open, using caution to keep the alien from getting rained on. 

When you opened the door to the van, sliding it open to show their mutual nemesis, your grin widened at Gaz. She nodded her head at you, to which you winked. This level of evil was doubly pleasurable. Zim’s jaw was hanging just as low as Dib’s, who still seemed shocked that the entire situation was happening. You pushed his back gently. 

“Get in.” 

Zim climbed into the car, too stunned to say much of anything. You closed the door, hearing Gaz cackling brought a smile to your face as you walked to the front of the car. 

“Rules still apply,” you stated. You spared a look to Gaz again. She gave you a thumbs up. 

The ride was surprisingly quiet, Dib and Zim looking out their respective windows as you drove the three to the school. The two children were sullen, Gaz enjoying their silent torment. 

You let the two stew in their sullenness while you approached the school, running through lights that were on the verge of turning red. You really didn’t want to deal with sullen children while you also had to deal with parents telling stories about their ‘excellent child Timmy, oh! Isn’t he the sweetest?!’ When you were two turns and a parking space away from the final destination, ou perked up: 

“If we all get along well enough, I’ll take us to that new ice cream shop and we can get a scoop.” 

The cheers of victory and excitement removed whatever sullen feelings they had. 

*

You opened the door for your three charges to pass through. They cheered, clambering in as children tend to. The three rushed to the ice cream display as you stood in the back of the line. The three gradually returned to your side from the display case. Only one person stood in front of you and the children, dropping his change on the floor. As you knelt down to pick it up, Zim burst in front of the person with a growl. 

You rushed forward before he could start making demands, scooping him under your arms, holding him tight to your side as he thrashed. You gathered the man’s coin, passed them too him and waited. Zim growled at you, hissing and trying to lash out. You shook him as you stepped up to the ice cream worker. 

Dib and Gaz each ordered their scoop of ice cream and you paid for the both of them. 

“Dib,” you said, Zim now fuming from your hold, “I want you to find a table large enough for the four of us to sit and clean please.” You sent him off, your attention now on Gaz. “If you could carry your own and brother’s ice cream to the table, I would appreciate that.” 

Then, you marched to the back of the line. There were now two people in front of you, which would serve as enough of a lesson. At least, you hoped. You put Zim down, who was furious. 

“I will kill you.” 

You growled, showing him your teeth as you towered over him. 

“You need to understand the difference between threat, enemy and rival, Zim.” You stared him down, moving forward a bit as the line progressed. “Threat, I am currently a threat. I stand between you and your objective ranging from mild to severe.” You relaxed your stance as if you did not just growl him into submission. “An enemy tends to be a group of people, or individuals congregating against a common goal.” The woman in front of them was the perfect test for Zim’s punishment. She had five children, all making ridiculous choices in their ice cream. When the children were done ordering, the woman simply put a bag of money with a suspicious dollar sign over it. “A rival, as you have proclaimed Dib to be, is one on an emotional basis which has components of fighting with mutual enthusiasm.” 

Zim hesitated at the counter. 

“Go on,” you said, giving him a gentle nudge forward. “You were very well behaved at the parent-teacher conference.” Zim brightened at your praise, shouting a flavor out for the clerk. There were no more patrons behind you, so the cashier did the scooping himself. When he handed the ice cream to Zim, the Irken surprised you. 

“Thanks!” and skipped off to join the table Gaz and Dib were at. Zim seemed slowly approached the table, but took his seat without spitting at Dib. 

Today had a lot of progress it seemed. 

“Anything for you?” 

You figured you did a job well done too. You behaved as well at the parent-teacher conference. You ordered yourself a scoop of ice cream, thanking the man and leaving a generous tip in the jar. 

*

Within the Massive, freshly emerged from the Florpus hole, hovered the Control Brains. There were very few Irken’s that met the Control Brains- the Tallest mostly as they were responsible for carrying out the orders. 

This was not to say no other Irken’s saw the Control Brains. They were a living unit as much as they were a mechanical one. 

Sometimes, the Control Brain needed to rest or update, technicians were responsible for the health of the brain. 

A smaller Irken went to the bridge of the Massive, clutching a data pad in small hands. 

“My Tallest,” a bow was given. 

Tallest Red and Purple looked around, then peered down and laughed at the smaller. 

“The Control Brains are in need of a routine system update,” the smaller explained, holding up the pad as proof of the claim. Tallest Red took the pad and looked it over with a hum, passing it over to Purple to review as well. “I was told to tell you that some comms and other things might get weird while they update.” 

“Whatever,” Tallest Red said, tossing the pad back once he signed it off, Purple’s signature next to it. 

“What is the purpose of the update?” Tallest Purple asked, then took a large drink of soda. 

“The Control Brains are reviewing defective Irken PAKs and updating the data or the better of our race.” The smaller bowed twice, once to each leader. “There might be some other minor things, but that is the majority, my Tallest.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tallest Red said, flopping back on the couch. 

“We get it,” Tallest Purple added, making a waving gesture with his hands. “shoo!” 

The smaller bowed twice again and retreated back to the Control Brain. 

“Let’s hope they look at Zim’s PAK first,” Purple said. 

“Yeah. He’s the most defective of them all.” 

In humans, small genetic anomalies often did not work in Earthlings favor. Yet, it was the very same anomaly that allowed for them to crawl out of the mud and begin walking on land. The Control Brains accepted the signed data pad from the smaller Irken, then demanded solitude from all workers. Reviewing thousands of Irken’s required time, but there was no Irken more defective than Invader Zim. 

The Control Brains started there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Thank you for all the support you have given me. I am happy to report the outline is complete and the story seems to be running smoothly. Thank you to all of you who continue to comment- you make my job as a writer fun and worthwhile. 
> 
> I happily present you with chapter four!

“How is it,” Zim asked from the spot you bundled him up on the couch, “that some humans know I am not from Earth and others do not.” 

You hummed, rubbing the last of the rain from the spot he ran in. Zim had burst through the door, earning another knife thrown in his direction. His screaming pulled on your ears, but his pain was plain to see. Unsure what to do, you treated his burning as you would if one of your initiates were on fire: swaddling. When that failed to work, and he hissed out the water was seeped into his clothing, you instead it all come off. 

He did not surprise you with how quickly he stripped his body, slightly taller than when you first met him. There were no stretch marks on his skin around the spine, arms or legs, so you supposed this was normal. He did not mind showing off his torso as most humans would have blushed. But when it came to taking off his gloves and boots, he hesitated. You silently moved to close the blinds, preserving his nature, modesty, and whatever alien embarrassment he held. When he was still smoking from his hands and legs, you tossed a blanket over him until he was hidden from your view. Green hands tossed the gloves out of the blanket cover, followed by boots. You grabbed them all in your arms and moved to the dryer. 

Sugar seemed to be the main source of his alien energy just as a human’s was based off glucose and other such compounds. Since arriving to the new country, and, dare you say, befriending the alien, you had taken to keeping your shelf stocked with many sugary products. Zim, moaning from pain from the couch, thanked you when you handed him a strawberry chocolate milkshake. 

While he was an alien, with his own unique alien biology, you felt better knowing you snuck a fruit into his diet. 

You pondered his question, debating how long his attention span would last. 

“Humans are difficult to understand, Zim.”

“You seem to understand them better than most.” You found yourself flattered. 

“Sometimes, information just passes over a human’s eyes and brain. If they see an image so often, their brain ignores commonalities. It’s a way of micro-processing. Maybe some humans do see it, but don’t want to comment. Humans like avoiding social-conflict.” 

“Why does Dib see and his father does not?” 

“That is a loaded question, Zim,” you said, flicking on the cake competition show you both took to watching when he came to your house. “And I do not have enough information to answer you, or provide one close enough to the truth.” 

Zim did not come over to your house as often as you went to the Membrane household. He only tended to show up at your door once a week. You kept supplies for his arrival, but tried not to anticipate him showing, lest you get lonely when he does not. You knew of his battles with Dib, patching Dib’s wounds together only to tell him how to deflect an attack. When Zim did show up at your house, it was either because it was raining, as it was today, or he had something to ask. 

The alien sometimes talked in round about ways, using poor information scouring techniques like: asking for a friend, someone I encountered, hypothetically…

“What are you asking me, Zim?” 

The alien removed his attention from the TV and directed it at you. His red eyes searched you every time you confronted him on one of his fears or questions. He still doubted you couldn’t see through him. Maybe he thought you could read his mind. Wouldn’t that be entertaining?

“How do I acquire human friends.” 

Seemed the gun was loaded with questions today. 

You dodged the first but would have to bite this bullet. 

The benefit to this question was he might be rethinking his position with Dib. Yes, you would answer this question to the best of your ability. You held up a finger to him in pause as you thought about your best response, searching through the files you read on human behavior that would suit both of your needs. 

“Zim,” you asked him, clicking the show on pause, “do you strive to be superior to humans?”

“Yes, human, do you not understand my mission?” 

You smiled, near feral. Now you had his attention. You pulled on the string of his pride and mission. His duty was to learn and destroy. You could work with his duty, perhaps change the direction of the destruction away from you. You were unsure where your loyalties lied with the alien in relation to your home planet. 

The human race was great. Terrible and amazing. Like little gods of chaos, humanity ran around creating and destroying. Fighting over petty things that was beyond your comprehension other than the fact every human seemed to do it. You, yourself, were not exempt from your humanity. You were playing on Zim’s weaknesses, stringing them along until they were fused to you. While you were doing this to build up the aliens’ confidence in a healthy way, you were insuring the protection of yourself, extending it to the Membrane children you were tasked to protect. Simultaneously, you forged Dib and Gaz to your side, slowly fusing the three charges into a unit, a team, that could work as cohesively as they did against each other. 

“Then I shall explain it to you, but it will be a longer explanation of human behavior. I trust your ability to retain this information and use it to your advantage. This is why I impart such knowledge onto you.” 

Zim looked up at you with sparkling eyes of what you hoped to be awe. He was closer to you, looking up at you while maintaining eye contact- trust was being forged. 

“Listen close, listen well,” you said, shifting your weight on the couch in a more comfortable position. 

“Humans have several forms of love or connection, when it comes to the emotional bonds that bind them. These forms differ in the time it takes to create them, how emotionally intimate they become, and a whole other host of things that would take years to explain. I understand you do not have this type of time, nor do I so I shall break it down to you. 

“Eros is a passion which binds human on a physical level. This is the sexual kind that humans engage in. They do this for immediate gratification, sharing a deeper level of emotional connection, money, et cetra. This type of love tends to blind humans emotionally more than physically. 

“Philia is the friendship and share of good will. Aristotle, the human long dead and decayed, proposed these forms of love. He said that Philia is the most selfless form of love based on a bond between another or a small group of individuals that seeks a mutual understanding for the other. 

“The familial kind of love is called storge. This form of love tends to be asymmetrical and unilateral which leads to a power imbalance. This power imbalance tends to be natural as the basis of this form of love is on family. The way a parent loves a child is not the same as a child loving the parent. While they both express storge love, they do not feel it mutually as the other does.” 

You gave him half a moment to process, taking a sip of the water that sat on the coffee table. 

“Agape love is a universal love and everything that is encompassed by the makings of the universe. This is the hardest to understand and tends to hurt my brain when I think about it too long, so don’t stress yourself over it. 

“Ludus is a playful love focused on the self-sufficient and spontaneous. This love commonly accompanies Philia in the form of friendship. I believe these are the two forms of love you are looking for.” You pushed him back down into his seat before he got up to race home and complete whatever project he was working on that required a friend. 

The laundry beeped, prompting you to rise. You turned the show back on so he would be sufficiently distracted by pastries. His clothing was dry and warm, the material not stretched or torn from the poor dryer unit in your house. You returned his clothing to him, eyes focused on the TV as he changed his clothing. 

The clothing would provide him another layer against the two emotional bombshells you were arming. Zim made himself comfortable within the blankets again, his body shifted to look at you. Sensing your cue, you turned off the television and resumed your lesson. 

“There are two left to teach you. There is a practical love-Pragma. This is found on the basis of reason or duty. Perhaps towards long-term survival. This love is commonly used in two ways: political marriages or gas-lighting.” You knew this love very well, years of fostering it in the youths you trained as well as the dedication to your agency. You were aware of what they were doing to you at some points, the conditioning, the all encompassing need to complete a duty. Maybe it was when you learned of this pragma that you were able to begin to separate yourself from it’s influence. You hoped to impart the same on Zim. 

“Finally, there is Philatuia. This is the self-love a person has. The health of such a love is based on a case-by-case scenario. Those with an unhealthy amount of philautia can experience hubris or depression. Those with a healthy Philautia understand their own worth without the validation of outside sources. This love is focused primarily on the internal.”

You sat back with your water in your hands, watching Zim process the knowledge he asked for. You were observing when the information would implant itself into his brain. This was like the seven-layer cake the man on the show was attempting to build. It required structure and a clever design to succeed. 

Zim was asking for the Philia and Ludus forms of love that he could find in a friendship with Dib and Gaz. You could’ve given him that, but he needed to be broken from the amber that froze his development. Given his silence, you had no doubt Zim’s mind was occupied by reviewing all the information that matched your descriptions, subsequently matching it with the people he’s encountered in his life. Dib and Gaz fell into the category he was immediately seeking as his primary goal. Gir falling into the Storge category. 

Pragma was what you were hoping he was beginning to understand. The only way to break pragma was to crack it, expose it just a bit, then let him pry it open with desperate fingers. Pragma was ice, steady if you remained still. 

You did not expect him to understand Philautia anytime soon; his ego was built on the small amount of self-esteem he had from his Tallest. He might believe himself to have philautia but it was likely misfiled as pragma due to his leaders. 

You once found yourself within the same boat as the alien. 

You doubted Zim would begin to understand Eros until Dib began to as well. 

What a crisis you were in for- teen angst. 

Yay…

Zim had to reorient himself before he fell beneath the ice of your conversation. You smiled, moving forward slowly until his eyes caught the movement. You gently poked his chest, where a human heart would be if his disguise wasn’t so insufficient. 

“What you desire is love; simply choose the form based on the individual in question and evaluate it in ratio to the relationship you desire to build.” 

“Genius!” Zim stood up, the blanket falling from his shoulders into a pool on the couch. You were tired of him getting his boots on your couch. Moving your hand in a striking movement, you snapped his knees out from under him until his butt was back on the couch. He laughed weakly as he stood on the floor, satisfying your new rules. 

Regardless of his poor human manners, he still had you laughing as you followed him to the door. Zim had a lot to process, his mind likely overwhelmed with information. Zim would confront his demons as they crossed his path; even the ones he created himself. 

Opening the door for him, you stood to the side as if you would a superior. He froze on the threshold, to your first prediction surveying like a Ruler now that the sky had stopped raining. He surprised you when he doubled back, clutching your torso for a moment, a small purr rumbling from him, then took off without saying a word. 

You watched him race back to his base, turning the corner and he was gone. 

You closed the door with a grin. 

Yes, today was a good day. 

*

Small reports of PAK malfunction began to rise to medium sized reports. Irken’s around Irken controlled space, and those in the throes of their mission, were beginning to die off. The reports went unnoticed by the Tallest, ignored for other matters. 

The smeetery was still producing an ample supply to make up for those on the rim sectors to be replaced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if you enjoyed! I love hearing from all of you!


	5. Chapter 5

Making the children their lunch was more of a selfish goal: job preservation. After you spent time in the Skool during that horrible parent teacher night, you observed several things: that the quality of the facility, _entirely,_ was unfit for children. The food service appliances were all curtained as the parents mingled with their children crying on arms.

The evidence of hiding the cafeteria was a red flag.

You knew that Dib and Gaz rarely brought their lunch. There was no evidence of lunch boxes in the pantry, or any edible goods that would last some time in a poorly kept refrigerator. Yellow wasn’t sure how your charges were getting money for their lunches, but you assumed their father set up an automatic bank charge.

This didn’t bother you until Dib told you the first time he _really_ witnessed what Zim was capable of: you know, that time Zim shrank to the size of a pea and went inside my body? Yeah, we fought, Gaz kicked him out of my brain- what? Everything is fine now.

Since then, you’ve been making their lunches. It required a little more preparation on your part. You did not ask for approval from Professor Membrane. It simply meant that you had to run to the grocery store more often, or simply purchase more food than necessary.

You were shamelessly using the children as an opportunity to enjoy good food- that was all.

Of course, none of this came to a head until the school called Professor Membrane, telling him he could no longer deposit money into children’s accounts that were no longer buying food.

“Good evening Yellow,” he said. You stood back, guarding the staircase out of habit as he snuck up on you. The man looked worried, you could see the parlor just beneath the goggles that he forgot he wore out of habit.

“Professor Membrane,” you nodded your head in respect, gauging his approach. It seemed his daughter picked up a trait of stress from her father- clenching fists. Your charges were upstairs, all in their rooms. You had managed to get Gaz away from her video games this night, something rare, when you suggested a walk. Gaz was upset about something, but she wouldn’t budge. She had swung at her brother twice, once hitting him, which earned her ten minutes of Corner Time. The second time she swung, Dib managed to block the blow with a left-hand block. The two were too stunned to do anything else, disengaging. Punishing Gaz for the strike would be counter-productive to Dib’s own training, much as it bolstered on her impulsive tendencies. Professor Membrane was a man who was as sporadic as his son, but the clenching fists made you cautious. You were still unaware of his impulse control and its threshold.

“You’re home early,” you approached the man with two strides, now within mutual striking distance. You kept your posture relaxed, not aggressive, as you raised your hands in concern. “Professor?” you asked as he moved, staggered strides almost crippling him as he got to the couch. “what ails you?” the hand that ran through his hair, Dib’s acquired trait, showed mental stress.

“I think,” he stuttered, breath a little choked off. “Where, where are the kids? Gazaline and Dib?”

“In their rooms,” you said, placating him with a hand to his shoulder. “they are soon going to fall asleep.” 

“Maybe I’ll get a better answer from you,” he said, sitting back down on the couch, his eyes darting to look at the stairs that lead to his children.

You were cautious now, more so than before. Something was amiss with your charges and neither did you see it nor did they feel compelled to come to you. This either meant the children still didn’t trust you, partly good on their part or it meant something was wrong with the charges and they didn’t know either.

“How are the kids?”

If all he wanted was a status report, he could’ve sent a text.

“Something tells me you are asking for a specific.”

“Dietary.”

“I cannot control what they eat for breakfast, or other days, but when I am here, I make sure they have a good, balanced dinner. There is a protein, antiquity proportioned to their weight and biological needs, a serving of vegetables, not based on starch products. I limit their soda to two cans each, per week. Their sugar intake is monitored but occasionally, I allow an extra sweet for reward.”

“Are they eating?”

Are they eating, what kind of question was that? The three of you were thriving on your nights, it was a bonding experience- to teach a life skill, passed on to the next generation. Of course, they were eating.

“Are they bulimic?” he asked, more frantically, his hands clutched your shoulder.

“What is this about?” You finally asked, rarely taking the direct approach with such vague notions to a direct supervisor.

“The only conclusion is they are not eating then,” you heard him say from where he slumped over. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, seeing the echo within Dib now. You sat next to him, an arm on his shoulder.

“From the beginning.”

“Well, I was working on a phasma, something top secret really, and I got a call. Normally it goes into the cellular void, but it was rather insistent. So, after it ruined the experiment with it’s shrill and caused a mild meltdown, I picked up.

“It was the school, asking for me to no longer deposit money into the account I have for Dib and Gaz’s lunch- it’s maxed out.”

A mild miscalculation.

“The only conclusion is that my children are not eating. That they have developed eating disorders.”

“False,” you said. You rose and stood at attention. “I have been making your children their lunches after surveying the poor facility of the cafeteria. I do not believe their equipment can pass standard.”

You held for a moment, watching him process your claim against his theory.

“If I have somehow infringed upon your duties as a parent, I do apologize. You provide them funds, it is within your right to dictate how it is used.” You stood square as you addressed your superior. “However, the children requested that I teach them how to make food. Making lunches is a good start- easy clean up, variety, time management. I’ve noticed it improves their sibling bond.”

You had Professor Membrane right where you wanted him. He was angry, you offered confession honestly yet framed it to benefit your favor. This is what made you a powerful Agent- your ability to remain in the middle. Schools of fish move like they do to avoid being eaten from the outside, constantly pushing towards the middle. Humans strived for the outside, remaining in the middle was a matter of negotiation and enforcement.

“I did not predict this possibility.”

“I am glad that you did,” you said, reaching out to him. You were willing to take the shot at your pride, your dedication to the job, if it was at the expense of protecting your charges. He was a concerned parent, his duty to protect more so than yours.

He yielded, faster than you expected. This pleased you. You stepped forward, a hand reaching to your head as if you thought of the most amazing idea.

“How about this!” You put a hand on his shoulder, support and guidance, “You, Wednesday, will learn from the children about how they like making their lunches. We have a plan for lunch, I’ll gather the supplies, you arrive at eight.”

“I cannot do this every night,” he pushed his hair back. “not right now.”

Hmm, the good doctor was not as blind as you thought. He could see his children slipping through his fingers.

“Maybe make their lunches on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ll teach you the one night, then you take over.”

“We give interns two weeks training.”

“You gave me one hour.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

If you could slowly manage to drip feed ways Professor Membrane could take care of his children, forging a stronger bond on both sides, your charges would begin to flourish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay healthy everyone!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that all of you are healthy and well during this time together. Thank you for all the lovely comments and support that you have given me. Each one of you brings a little happiness. 
> 
> Allow me to return the favor.

There were many things to be expected when training recruits. There was the recruit that got homesick, needing comfort and support as well as an inevitable kick in the ass. There was the recruit that succeeded at almost every task yet could not handle the emotional blow of a first failure. There was always that one in the batch that would try (sometimes succeeding) in killing another recruit.

The recruits always rebelled against your order. In the beginning, you had to establish your authority. As recruits went through training and other exercises, they would find ways to test that authority.

And test it Zim did.

While Zim was no recruit of yours, not even one of your charges, you had taken him on as one of your own. It served as a way to keep Zim from killing Dib while in your presence, and gave you an insight onto outer space that you’d never heard of before.

When the alien was within your house, he removed his disguise in the bathroom, walking freely. The window blinds were closed, preventing any scopes from looking in and shooting at you worked in Zim’s favor. His willingness to expose his true nature, unprompted and now a pattern, filled you with a sense of mutual trust.

Trust that you extended with information.

While you were now enjoying the lifestyle of a comfortable single person, working what seemed to be two jobs with the amount of kids, you still had contacts and heard whispers. Important people that died were shown on the news, the nature of their deaths were told to you over encrypted messages from the underground networks humans developed.

Unfortunately for you, at the end of the day, Zim had no real reason to see you as an authority figure. And you knew that too. To Zim, you realized, you were more a mentor. This epiphany came only after an incident where Zim tested your advice- your direction, a near _direct order._

Needless to say, you were upset as you found yourself surrounded by agents of a neighboring government, all pointing guns in your general direction as you ran with Zim’s unconscious form over your shoulder. Zim was growing taller, forcing your to throw him over your non-dominant arm so you could defend with the other. Men were shouting in their native tongue capture and kill orders, the beam of their flashlight giving you a good idea of where they were in the treeline.

You pushed through the soldiers that tried to ambush you. You shot one with a gun, a muffler dampening the sound of the bullet as it tore through the man’s throat. Two others attempted an outflank, direct assault method. The first came at you with a blade, charging. You dropped Zim to the ground as best you could to meet the threats. The first man attempted to stab you, thrusting his arm forward, hyper-extending his balance. You kicked his leg out from under him, moving his own blade to his throat as gravity introduced him to the floor.

The second man took the opportunity to shoot at your shoulder, the pain blossoming over the back of your muscles. Winded and kneeling, you threw a haymaker towards his lower abdominals as he approached to execute you. His body turned against your blow, instinctually working to protect his internal organs. You kneed him in the face, disorienting him long enough for you to grab his gun, relieved it of a bullet and you an enemy.

There were more approaching, slower this time, given that there was less natural foliage being disrupted. You picked Zim up in your arms, hauling him over your shoulder and moved through the pain. You were injured, the bullet hampering your ability to breathe and function. There was little doubt you had cracked ribs; contrary to Hollywood, bulletproof vests were designed to stop a bullet from _entering_ the body- they did nothing to prevent cracked bones, bruising, damaged organs, that came with getting shot at.

Still, better than actually being shot.

The enemy drew closer, even with your awkward hobbled run pushing beyond the rate they traveled. They were quieter now, no doubt coming across the friends you left behind- a morbid trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow. Their flashlights were still on, the bright cone of light covered more surface the further you were from them.

You would have cursed had you not understood the need for silence.

They were surrounding you, lights coming from the West as those on your flank were closing in.

There was no way to outrun such an enemy- they were hunting you, following your tracks, the bodies, any marker unintentionally left behind. It was time to hide. Thankfully, Zim chose to foolishly attack the humans that were near a large area of rocky woods and mountains. Rocks covered the surface of the ground, trees sprouting and climbing towards the sun during the day. At night, they provided cover for prey.

You found a solid tree, one that offered many sturdy branches high up.

Getting to them would require you to climb.

You shifted Zim on your shoulders so he hung like a scarf, then began to climb.

This was as close to a koala as you were now willing to get.

Climbing became easier once you had branches to work with. In an attempt to keep the trees from shanking their branches, giving away your position, you kept your foot as close to the trunk and base of the branch. The height became an advantage you would seek to use. You climbed higher than intended, finding a grouping of branches to settle Zim in like a baby bear.

You breathed for a minute, the weight off your shoulder did not make your wound throb any less. Looking down, you could see them approaching the tree. They were a hundred meters away, a moderate sweep of the area would take the soldiers about two minutes to reach your current position.

Checking over Zim, you pulled out his communicator.

Over meals and evening discussions, Zim had used such a device numerous times to order Gir. Either to come to the house, or pick something up. You turned it in your hands, finding the button Zim used to open the link as your other went to your pocket.

Gir was an interesting creature. Not only for the technology that he was, but the personality that you doubted he should have. You were unsure as to whether that meant he was a robot that acted like a dog, or a poorly designed robot dog that tried to act as conceptually intended. It caused too many headaches, so you avoided thinking about the nature of Gir’s existence for too long. Either way, he was a dog. And he statistically followed Zim’s orders if Zim followed this pattern: 1) reward and/or reward stimulant (commonly to be acquired in a short-term future) 2) the Order 3) Immediate reward.

The soldiers were getting closer. They were far enough away that it was unlikely they would hear you, especially from the height of the tree. You reached into your pocket and grabbed a mint you kept for this very purpose and flicked the communicator on.

“Gir?” you asked as nicely as you could given how you kept your voice hushed. “do you hear this?” you crinkled the wrapper in your hand. He gasped. Good, you had his attention. “It’s your candy. If you come here to rescue Zim and I, you get a candy. If you come here with enough fuel to carry yourself, Zim and I home, I’ll give you _three.”_

You shoved the voice box into your abdomen to muffle his excited squealing. You clicked the comm off, knowing that he was on his way.

With two guns, nine bullets between the two of them, and a muffler on one, things were bound to get interesting. You checked the muffler, it did not fit on the other gun, nor were the bullets compatible with your own. A muffler would lessen the distance a bullet could travel. You adjusted your position as they drew closer. The stragglers in the back would have to be taken out first, with the muffler attachment, and you could not miss lest they alert the others.

A shifting sound of fabric pulled you away from the sounds of a man hitting the floor. Zim opened his mouth but you covered it with your hand before he could begin shouting and compromise the both of you. His eyes narrowed at your gloved touch, but widened in understanding as he grasped the situation. You nodded, he returned the gesture, the hand was removed, his lips tight.

That was when you heard the rumbling. Gir was approaching. The enemy turned towards the sound, their lights pointing at Gir. You took aim at the men closest to you now, an easier shot. As the bullets ran out, you lifted the other gun. A cloud was approaching you, dirt and dust and rocket emissions leaving a dissipating trail behind. Gunshots fired ahead at you, men shouting just as loud as when you first encountered them. Gir was kind enough to run circles around them, the cloud offering the three of you cover. Gir popped up behind you, unzipping his hoodie, he held his palms up.

“Ahh,” you held the candies back. “Well done on your arrival- I liked that you added the cloud.” You offered him the candy. “Did you bring enough fuel for the three of us to get back to your master’s or my base?”

“We are being shot at,” Zim pointed out.

That was true.

Gir’s cloud offered the three visual protection, but no auditory one. For now, the guns were trained ground level, so you had little concern they would point their guns at the trees until one of the men actually spotted one of the three.

None the less, Gir tilted his head forward so you could see the top of his frame, a green bar and a super smile sticker highlighted.

“I am proud of you.” You handed him his candies. Gir cheered in victory, shoving them in his mouth, then hovered like a table. You grabbed Zim and climbed on Gir. He took off through the trees, dodging and weaving as he laughed manically. The SIR unit was not designed to hold up a grown human as yourself, but the robot managed the handicap well.

Gir even managed to somehow open the door before crash landing on your couch.

You took a moment to breath, a low groan leaving your lungs.

Gir giggled, classically unharmed.

Gathering your wits, you swung your legs over the couch, thinking about a new interior design for the living room. You went to the cookie jar, taking the entire thing to the broken couch with the other two occupants. You pat Gir on the head.

“A job well done, Pavlov, you serve your master well.”

Gir was not your SIR unit, he belonged to Zim. Bad blood, carpets, ugh. If you could establish you were not an usurper to Zim through his SIR unit, it would prevent future knee aches. To further this, you passed over the cookie jar to Zim.

“Eat,” you ordered, removing your vest, “you will need it to heal.” You winced as the vest came off, the pain beginning to throb to your heartbeat. You wore a tank top under your clothing, the thin material preventing chafing on your body. It became a habit to wear one at all times, vests rubbing at areas of skin were prevented by this.

The area was an angry purple, red streaks from the impact bloomed outwards. You couldn’t see the extent of the injury from your turned head, but you could feel the throb extend to the other side of your shoulder, down your back and across your ribs. Speaking of, you sat up straight, eyes closes, as you breathed and touched on your ribs. Your fingers ran down the structure of bone, noting where your breath hitched or divots in the bones.

All in all, not a bad injury. Sure, for the next six-weeks breathing and sleeping would be difficult, but your heart was not damaged, and Zim was sitting on the couch next to you.

“You should be eating,” you said. You reached forward slowly and snagged a cookie from the jar, eating it yourself.

“You’re injured.” A stated, yet confused fact from the alien.

“Yes Zim,” you answered. He sat up on his knees, now at eye level height with you. He shuffled on the couch, closer. His eyes connected with yours, then moved to the injury. You let him inspect it, turning your body as best he could to see the consequences that came with foolishly executed plans. You flinched as cool fingers touched the hot injury, but relaxed under the feeling.

Really, icing the injury would be wise.

Before you could move, Zim put the cookie jar back in your hand and got up from the couch, leaving the room. Shock was beginning to set in, a numbness overtaking your legs, the center body feeling heavier as you sank into the couch.

You cried out as your wound was aggravated, but the coolness of ice shifting over the large injury mellowed you like a tranquilizer. Passing the cookie jar back to Zim, you flopped on the couch, laying on your belly. You heard Zim move around the couch, coming to sit down on the floor in front of your eyes.

“Thank you,” you sighed, finally relaxing into the couch.

“Why is Yellow yellow?” Gir asked, probably pointing at your wound from where he was perched on the back of the couch. Too focused on your breathing, trying to find the right inflation to supply oxygen while not expanding your ribs or raising your shoulders.

“Because Yellow was injured,” Zim replied. You didn’t realize you had your eyes closed. He was closer, still on the ground, but closer, the cookie jar set to the side. At first glance, the red eyes the Irken species was equipped with had no expression- no iris of color, pupil to contract with light, injuries, hormones or drugs. He had no hair above his eyes, so reading his expression through eyebrows was non-existent.

Zim found other ways to express his emotions without the use of an iris, pupil, or eyebrows. He did have eyelids- used the same way humans did, even expression wise. His eyes were looking between you, his own hands, and the spot on your back Gir pointed out. His antenna were twitching from the low point they rested on his skull, he was nervous.

But there was something more to this, something you hadn’t seen before.

It was likely you and Zim had heard of the plutonium crystal at the same time, he from his research and you from your sources. What you knew Zim didn’t, was that the plutonium crystals were set up for the capture of an underground syndicate. Your contact didn’t offer much, since your services were not up for hire in exchange for more information. You would have let the information go, remembering it if the news decided to report, but when Zim arrived, boasting of an important crystal filled with power nearby.

You could do basic math.

There was the brewing of an argument as you cooked dinner for Zim that night, Gir occupied on the very couch that was now destroyed. Zim claimed that he would be able to handle whatever humans that encountered him, then stating that Gir would not be far. You told him the information that you knew, stressing that there was an _extreme_ chance something else was at play.

You told Zim not to go, your voice was clear, the order delivered without any confusion. The look you received meant you were in for a long night. Like you did with the other two children, you slipped a tracker in his food then served the alien.

When it came to the protection of your charges, you were willing to negate personal boundaries.

When Zim left the house that night, you called Professor Membrane, explaining that you were filled with squirrel-beanz, a common illness passed from kid to kid within skool, passed onto adults. Recovery was about a three day process, allowing you enough wiggle room to stalk Zim.

Stalk you did.

For the most part, Zim seemed to be doing pretty well on his mission. You observed from the forest, far away from the government snipers and the syndicate forces in the forest. Any person you encountered, you removed from the equation. It was when the car exploded that things started going poorly, for everyone involved.

Zim had the crystal at one point and lost it when he lost consciousness. You could not carry him, the case and your life.

A high priced chirping sound drew you back. Zim was on the ground still, his eyes wide and locked onto your back. The chirping was coming from him, a repetitive sound growing in volume and distress.

You pulled Zim to you as best you could, moving your body to wrap an arm around his frame in a strange hug. “Easy Zim,” you hushed as he chirped. The acknowledgement of his distress only pushed him to now clambering into your arms. “Okay,” you hissed, moving to sit upright. You tossed the bag of ice with your bad shoulder onto the coffee table where it would not physically harm him.

You snagged Gir before he could panic, either just to join in or as a result of seeing his master distressed. You moved, lifting them both up. Gir was in your injured arm as Zim walked next to you, his body plastered against your own.

This was odd, you thought, moving towards the bedroom. Rare, had Zim offered physical comfort. He seemed to find comfort in receiving it, but he didn’t actively seek it either. You crawled on top of the bed covers, depositing the alien and his robot as best you could. You put an arm over Zim, positioning him on your right side, so he wouldn’t be able to directly see the bruising over your heart.

You hushed the alien, rubbing your thumb over his head as his chirping quieted, breathing mellowing. Gir was quiet on the other side of Zim, looking at his master with concern.

“Easy Zim,” you said, “we’re okay.”

“If Zim had been able to listen to orders,” so this was, naturally, a deeper issue, “is Zim wasn’t _defective.”_

“Cease,” you said. Zim looked up at you, surprised. He looked conflicted between wanted to go on with his self-deprecating monologue and follow orders. You chose for him, “making a stupid choice isn’t the same as being defective.” You breathed out your sentence, inhale.

“I was the one who was foolish.” You took a breath, closing your eyes. “I expected you to follow orders like a recruit.” Inhale. “my methods were defective, not you.”

Zim’s breath hitched once more in his throat, his eyes becoming shiner. He swallowed whatever words were in his mouth, moving closer in your arms. He broke eye contact, looking at the ceiling.

“Rest, Yellow-human,” he said, shifting to turn and look at Gir. You could see the halo of flickering pink lights- no doubt coming from some of his tech.

“The Tallest would not hold me as you do,” Zim said from the other side. You ran your hand between his antenna, relaxing the creature against you as he spoke.

“Neither did my superior.”

Silence stretched long between them. Zim went back to his device. While he was in your embrace, you did not expect him to rub the arm that was tossed over him. You couldn’t tell if it was a conscious action or not.

“Asking for comfort…it’s weakness.”

“No distress, after trauma, is distressing in itself.” Oh, your ribs really needed a three-day nap. 

“What happened?” Zim asked. “To your superior.”

You were not one of the best agents in the mix. Not one of the worst. Things came to you at an average level, and you were mocked for that once the weaker recruits were culled. There was a moment, as a recruit, you broke at the wrong moment, in front of the wrong person.

The laugh was worth the whole-body pain.

“I killed him.”

*

The smeetery was no longer making enough troops to replace the ones lost. The issue of Irken deaths could no longer go unnoticed or ignored by the Tallest.

Reports were growing in numbers large enough that the integrity of the Empire was now at risk.

Bringing the tallest to consult the Control Brains.

“Hmmm,” they hummed after Tallest Red and Purple were done explaining the universal PAK malfunction that went after Irken’s at random. It was not bound to height, rank, job- it struck randomly, was not contagious and rapidly spreading fear. The Control Brains lit up. “We have found the source.”

“Then eliminate it!” Tallest Purple shouted.

“Oh, my Tallest, we cannot do that.” The Control Brains said to the two hovering leaders. “The source isn’t of Irk, but an organic being outside Irken Territory.”

“Then how is it getting here?” Tallest Red moved forward.

“In a round-about way, through Invader Zim. He really has accomplished all you asked: assimilating into the people.”

The two spent a long time talking about Zim, his defectiveness, their regrets on not killing him, wondering how he was alive, how he managed to survive so many things.

Zim had another enemy, another defective enemy.

They sent word to Irken-Tak. Her conditions were simple: assassinate Zim and the threats to the Irken Empire, full reinstated Irken-Elite status. She accepted the mission with as much enthusiasm as she accepted the mission.

Red was infuriated by the reports of the dead Irken’s and how they got back to Zim, his body count of his own species growing higher than the count he acquired during his own Invader years. It lead him to asking the Control Brain’s more questions. Which eventually lead him to this answer:

“It would take a Florpus jump to make it to Earth,” the Control Brains said. “The journey would be six months, much less painful than the first.”

“And if we can kill the source and connection, we can stop the deaths.”

“It’s highly possible.” They bounced. “There is enough energy stuck on the sides of the ship to make the jump.”

“Only the Massive would be able to make it through the Florpus,” Purple pointed out to his co-leader, not wanting to make another jump even if it was going to be painless.

“Then we call only the best onto the Massive. Then we jump.” Red’s eyes were looking beyond the expanse of the universe as if they could eventually gaze upon Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter born out of four hours of sleep at wee hours of the morning- yes. 
> 
> Now, I do believe I am going to attempt to sneak downstairs and get a bowl of cheerios. I only have to dodge two dogs and my own clumsiness.

Yellow entered the Membrane household as if it were any other Monday. You had brought your little rutsack with food in it, intending to teach the kids how to properly cook rice- a task much harder than originally thought (even by Yellow’s own standards). It would teach the children patience and how to adapt within the kitchen.

The sight of Dib almost made you sigh, but withheld, for fear it would clearly harm your eldest charge’s self esteem.

It was clear he hadn’t showered since last you saw him on Friday; his cowlick almost clung to the base of his skull, his face ablaze with acne, picked and a little painful to look at. But there were other infections on his body as well. Mainly, the poorly hidden bandage on his arm that rested under his trench coat.

“We have several things to go over today, children.” You put the grocers in the fridge, tossing them without organization for the fear of wounds on Dib’s arm. You turned to your youngest charge, skeptical of your change in behavior.

“Gaz: pizza for dinner if you can be patient until your brother finishes a shower and I bandage his wounds.”

“Deal,” she smiled, holding her hand out to shake. You shook it, ignoring Dib’s stuttering. Gaz went into the room with the television, the sound of her game booting up told you she would be occupied.

Rather than grabbing your wounded charge by his injuries, you stood behind him, ushering him to the bathroom. You had taken the liberty to look around the house and inspect the medical supplies on hand upon your initial arrival. Thankfully, the Professor seemed to keep a well stocked house. You had an idea that Professor Membrane used the medical supplies more often than his children realized.

Dib did not have the look of shame tainting his face, which allowed your lungs to still hold oxygen. You doubted it was the type of wounds the back of your mind whispered. He seemed to be with the program as well; dutifully shrugging off his jacket, turning the toilet seat down to sit on top of, and extended the dirty bandage for your inspection.

His willingness to cooperate was a salve against your rioting emotions- glad: that he trusted you enough to extend an injured hand. A foolish feeling: in regards to not teaching either charge how to properly tend to a wound.

You cut the bandage away from his arm, stalling your movement after a cry was given from your swiftness. You shushed him, the knife not touching his skin. He relaxed after a tense moment. You pulled the rest of the bandage open, it unraveling at the fibers due to it’s age.

“As you clean any wound bandages must be replaced at a ratio that staunches the bleeding.” His wounds were scabbed, a firefly effect of infection hid under it. This wound was most certainly delivered by Zim. The angle was all wrong for it to have been self inflicted. No, this was a defense wound that had been blocked.

You could see it, your charge and your legacy fighting, both using your instructions to defend and attack. This wound was defensive, a block of claws that had traveled in an upward motion- had not been deflected, an injury of the lower internal organs.

Zim, while growing under your tutelage, was using his newfound height to his advantage.

“The dermis must be cleaned regularly. The more exposed flesh that interacts with the environment, the most often it must be cleaned.”

Regarding the week, you watched the Membrane children on Monday’s Wednesday’s and Friday’s. Zim, who out of a fit of jealousy, now eager mind, tended to come over after school on Tuesday and Thursday. The newfound beauty of this routine was that the two could learn and rarely have the opportunity to beat the living shit out of each other. And since you established yourself as an omnipresent middle ground, their deadlier battles were closer to zero on weeknights.

After all, they were school nights.

Weekends, however, were outside the bounds of your control.

“Every wound must be cleaned. Use soap and gently wash with a warm cloth.” Dib was lucky that you were here. Had the wounds gone unattended for another day, you would have the lovely lesson of lancing wounds. “Treat it with a healing solution when the wound is dry.”

Dib took the neo-cream and offered it to you.

“Shower first- let the water fall onto the wound. It scabbed over so soap can run freely over, but not on. Yes, yes, but that was a healing soap- not that scented chemical monstrosity you have- _that will_ very much do more harm than good.”

You shut the door on his sputtering. The sound of the pipes made you smile as you put away the groceries, deciding on making the dish in two days. You packed the charges lunches- a balanced diet that would keep them energized and focused during the day but with some sugar.

The clearing of a throat made you turn as if you did not hear the eldest approach from behind. He held his hands up in a fashion that said: ta da without any words. His hair was toweled and unknotted and wearing a new set of clothing. He was even holding the medical kit.

You did train them well.

He moved his arm to the table, diligently putting some of the cream over his scabs (a trans-dermal that would kill whatever infection laid beneath).

“Finally, a strong, sturdy but not tight bandage, like so.” You wrapped his wound, from the center of the injury, up towards the heart, down the length to meet his wrist, and met back up in the middle.

Praise be that smile; Dib even brushed his teeth.

*

After finishing two mistakes of slices from Bloaty’s Pizza, you were yearning for a dessert salad. The oil that coursed through your veins could evaporate for all you cared. Dragging onward to walk it off within the super-pharmacy.

The children had their shower catties within their hands. Today, you were teaching them about hygiene without them wanting to kill each other. Dib and Gaz were more amicable. When a joke went too far, the other offered a hesitant apology. Gaz even playfully shoved her brother- his body not crashing into anything; balance simply displaced. 

They were browsing the hundreds of bottles of shampoo. When they found something they liked, they added it to their bag. You explored the acne section, handing them both things, then towards the feminine aisle. Dib was hesitant, but you displayed one over his wound- robbing the cultural fear before it could enter the bank. Gaz followed in equal strides.

Desperately, you were thinking of a way to accurately explain to their father, how trust was established.

Going home was an easy walk, the kids grew tired and went to bed. He approached you from the back again, his movements audible with every step. He lead you downstairs, still distraught.

“I do make them sandwiches now. And we still do our Sunday dinner. But they still don’t trust me.”

“Trust is always depended on time and space.” You explained with a steady voice that hid your upset mind. “It is not always about doing the same tasks. Sometimes, companionship is about existing in the same space.

*

There was no more control, now that the Massive traveled through the Florpus. All communications with outside travel was disconnected. They were alone with their calculated rations, numbers and resources.

The Tallest ordered that all information be scoured from Zim’s transmissions and reported. Their was a dip in attendance, from the Tallest in the beginning to Zim towards the end.

He was reporting less and less. Of the reports and stolen camera from his human nemesis, the name Yellow came up.

The smaller’s tried to make a drawing of the subject.

“It’s just your generic earthling.”

“We can pin the location. If this _Yellow_ can influence a defective PAK and infect the Control Brian, then they both need to be eliminated for the good of our species.”

But the strength of the full armada was not with them. When they would eventually crash land into Earth, their forces would be limited to the elites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, please send your love and comments. I sacrificed cheerios for you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primary Warning: Big Red Button Use I try not to make it obvious, but it's there. If this is a problem for you, consider skipping and know the plot moves onward. 
> 
> Hello friends, I apologize for the delay. Good news, I'm keeping my job as an essential worker; bad news my hours are crazy and unpredictable. I know I used to post longer chapters but I am 100% tired. I still love this story and the people that follow it. You all bring such joy to my heart. 
> 
> So here is a chapter for you! Thank you so much for your encouragement and love. 
> 
> Stay healthy everyone...

You woke with the hairs standing on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. It didn’t matter what the cause was- your instincts pulled you to wake. With eyes closed, you listened in on the breathing around you. Dib and Gaz were breathing at the natural rate for a human in a deep slumber. Zim’s PAK was humming as it recharghed.

You opened your eyes. The tent seemed secure from within, zippers and seams still intact. The shadows on the outside reflected the trees that you noted earlier in the evening as you instructed the children on how to pitch the tent.

Moving quietly from the bag, you opened the zipper of the tent as narrow as possible and slid out. You shut the tent, keeping the warmth in for your charges, it allowed you to put a blade of grass in the hook. If it was gone, the perimeter had been compromised.

With the feeling that it already was, your eyes looked up. Predators were most likely to ambush from above, especially if they were smaller or alone. You began walking in a circle, gradually expanding it as slow steps allowed you to look into the darkness. There was only so much that the moon could provide, but like the incident with Zim, picking up a flashlight would draw attention and lower the overall quality of your already poor night vision.

The odd tightness of fear was in your chest. While being hunted was rare, what wasn’t was the integrity of the charges. Of course, the day always came where you would venture into similar woods with recruits and instruct them how to survive. Just as you had in the past, this day, you played the ‘simple’ game of hide-and-seek.

The three charges had played the game in the past, enjoying the violence that some versions offered.

Now relying on memory and sound, you crept through the night. Stepping on stones and tree limbs muffled the sounds of your stride. The key to looking for something in the dark was searching for movement and triangulating it with sound.

The perimeter was secured with quiet steps, you moved to expand it further than the tent and immediate supplies you brought. Checking the ground for inconsistencies, you found yourself observing a tree, against the bark, a scratch mark that lead to a deep puncture wound. The hole was leaking sap.

Like water rushing over, you fell into the stream. There was an irken here, within the tree canopy, and they were oddly enough, drawing you out.

A bird fluttered off to your six, the perfect blind spot for unassuming prey. It was a predictable strike after such a good lead. The irken had done wonderfully with the lure.

Crouching under the PAK legs extended to impale you, when they braced against the ground, you shot up and punched the small alien right in the mid-section, stunning the creature’s main organ. PAK legs quaked. You pushed the threat away, unbalancing it further.

It hissed, eyes narrowing by the grace of the moon light drifting through a slow-moving cloud. She charged, PAK legs projecting her up. Again, you braced, only this time, you grabbed the joint.

Many a fight with Zim, had you experienced the painful slashing of a PAK leg. Through careful observation and painful experimentation, you found that there was a joint.

It acted like a kneecap.

And like human kneecaps, were vulnerable.

Getting to them, however, was always, _always,_ painful.

The Irken managed to slash your back, tearing through the jacket and shirt underneath. Your spine protested, heat pooling from the wound. The pain was easily ignored when you watched the creature stumble again, now crippled. You inverted the back-support beam of her PAK.

Taking a step forward was ill-advised on your part. Your own knee went out with pain. On the ground, you inhaled.

You rose. The fear was eminent in the creature, backing up with what limbs were available while clutching the painful wound you delivered to the stomach.

Now out of eyesight from the camp, you felt safe to talk. If this one was anything like Zim, they would rather die than scream for help. Especially from an enemy.

“If you’ve come to harm my charges,” you said to the Irken panting on the ground.

It took quite a bit of convincing on your part, getting the children to agree to your idea. Professor Membrane, bless him, happily agreed with your plan, stating that it was a perfect opportunity for his children to socialize as other kids their age. To Zim, you pitched the idea of learning how to best manipulate the environment. You taught them how to navigate using the moss in the trees: in Southern Hemisphere- moss grows south, reverse for North. In the evening, you engaged in the stereotypical behavior of campfire and marshmallow treats.

While you didn’t sing, you were not willing to give that up for some alien that tried to kill you.

“Then I will be forced to kill you.” The Irken panting on the ground apparently had purple eyes, the antennae curled more than Zim’s were. Had it not been for reviewing the footage of the Tallest after a polite request to Zim’s computer, you would have thought the alien a female.

“I won’t give you the privilege.”

The alien had grit and tenacity. They were ferocious in their peril. For every blow you delivered, they managed to hit back. While you never allowed the alien out of your close range, therefore preventing the remaining PAK legs from outright stabbing you since they risked stabbing their host, they were more crafty with their movements then Zim.

The unperceived advantaged lied in their lack of height. This was one of the first things you taught Zim. They could very easily stab your squishy inside meat; you were close combat, and they had a better angle for reaching your insides than you could quickly snap their neck.

You deflected the left claw, grounding your own weight, and took the alien to the ground.

Unfortunately, your theory was proved right as you dove for the final strike. They took their own path, pressing a button on the arm that cut the life from the body. You moved, understanding.

The battle was over; threat: eliminated.

Back at camp, you poured out an honorable drink for the soldier of the Irken Armada.

You made yourself comfortable against a tree that looked into what would be the line of the rising sun.

No sleep would be found until the night would appear to you again, but you could find yourself numb within the contents of the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay healthy my friends


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again- I hope you are all staying healthy wherever you are reading this.

The private chambers of the massive held an odd calm over them. The door was the cause of the calm and the oddness that crept over the Tallest leaders, who were sequestered in their chambers with no one waiting on them.

They could do nothing but wait for their arrival to Earth. The Vacuum seal that the Florpus created prevented them from their usual entertainment of tossing Irkens out. Comparable to a human, the sound the echoed around the ship as it traveled through the seal was like putting a a sea-shell close to the ear. A human didn’t really hear the echo of the ocean from which the shell was birthed and mined from, rather, the distorted sound of air traveling through the circular shape- twisting what would register as vibration channels in the inner ear, and processed by the brain as: ‘ocean.’

All of the remaining Irkens were stuck on the ship.

Waiting for the moment to arrive at Earth or expire.

The first stage was deemed Sugar Shock by those working in the medical units. Purple was taking the time to read over the symptoms, familiarizing himself with the state he may very well enter soon. The end result, before moving to Stage Two or jumping straight to Stage three, left the Irken in a husk like state- no longer able to serve the Massive.

The Tallest took the strongest and most elite soldier with them on the Massive. Soldiers that had conquered their planets, committed the most atrocious crimes in the glorious name of the glorious name of the Irken Armada. Cream of the crop troops boarded the Vessel, all bowing down to the power of the Tallest, swearing their allegiance to the Control Brains once more before gathering in a large room adorned with lazers and smoke machines.

They were told of the mission, that they were all chosen because they were gifted. They had special skill-sets that would help with the destruction of a perfectly weak planet. It would be easy to conquer- the species woefully inept, not even developed enough to produce vehicles that hovered off the ground. They were weak, easy pickings, and something that would boost morale upon return. That if a soldier was clever enough, they could be taken away on a private retreat, a mission where the Tallest themselves would participate- it would push soldiers to maximum efficiency.

Only the few on the bridge were aware of the true reason of their mission; that they were going to destroy the human who caused this whole malfunction.

Amongst the lower Irkens, those nearest the irkens who succumbed to the illness early on whispered amongst themselves this was the Tallest taking an ArK- only the best, to start somewhere new, in wildspace. As the Massive was carried away from the Armada, the Tallest did not witness the crew slipping in numbers that grew by the day without their leaders, without the collective mindset the Control Brains brought.

Stage Two was illusive to the Irkens. Tallest Purple and Red were aware that there were Irkens on the Massive itself that were infected with whatever was among them. They were quickly executed until it was determined that it was no illness spread, but one that seemed to develop within the coding of the Irkens- the most basic that everyone had. It was unknown the cause- what kicked off the process, but every Irken hung on a hinged breath for the first stage. After the body was hollowed out, no food or drink, motivation, the Irken tended to jump to the third stage- exhaustion and rest, a chrysalis seemingly trying to form over the body from the sweat that dripped off them.

The Third Stage was what the medical Irkens were experimenting with- if it could be reversed with an increase in sugar and snacks.

This put a strain on rations Carefully bringing the right amount of supplies: fuel, weapons, monies, snacks, soldiers; that would last them the journey to Earth and the journey back.

Which was precisely why Stage Two was such a problem for the Irkens that fell under it’s spell. The Sugar Shock of stage one must have snapped something inside a small percentage of the Irkens. It caused them to become rampantly manic: generally destructive was a common trait in the Irken genome but the mania of such destruction. Ships were destroyed, fuel leaked, snacks and other rations burned.

These Irkens were ‘contained’ as quickly as possible. Whatever it was, it was a waiting game. Not even the illness was predictable in its path.

The Irkens that did not expire while in Stage Three seemed to have recovered. The Tallest were pleased with this information, that a simple time in the weird chrysalis would heal them. The Irkens returned to their duties, willfully carrying them out with thanks to the Tallest, that their weakness of illness would not count against them; that they were still able to fight for the glory of their species.

The Irkens ate though- more than was normal, past indulgence but was no cause for alarm. Perhaps they just needed the fuel? They spent a lot of time in healing, not eating, of course they need more food. Stage Four was the False Recovery. The body was consuming and consuming itself, not the food that sat within.

Stage Five was a drop dead irken.

Next to Purple, Red stood suddenly and threw the pad he was reading on, storming off to his room with a slam of the door, completely ignoring the questions of Purple.

The Taller rose and picked up the pad, reading through the cracked screen and seeing why his other threw it with such violence.

Tak had pressed her BRB.

Purple stormed back to Red’s chamber, bursting open the door.

“We need to talk about,” the rest of his statement died in his lips as he looked at Red, seeing that the Irken was on the bed, and breathing harder than he should have for an esteemed ruler as himself.

There was no denying it- Red had entered Stage One.

*

You had already fed your two charges dinner. You smiled at the sight of the fridge and pantry. It was filled with the kids favorite foods, and had little containers neatly stacked with several sandwiches. It made you happy to see that they and their father were bonding.

Yet, there were still some bumps in the road. Dib, who normally greeted you excitedly at the door with a babbling tongue talking about his days adventures, was trapped in his room with the door shut.

He came down for dinner, greeted you and his sister, and ate quietly. You had no doubt that he and his father had another round of raised voices- confirmed by the younger sister. You let Dib have his time, you would go to him after you finished dishes if he didn’t come down first. He did not, but you weren’t going to approach him with the topic of his father- that was a current mine field and the best way to not get blown up was to avoid those at all costs.

You would approach the minefield of a conversation, and wait for him to either explode or defuse. You knocked on his door.

“Dib, you asked me to help you with your English paper on Monday. Would you like me to help you again tonight?” There was no sound beyond the door. “I will resort to bribery- I made brownies earlier in the week. We can study and eat.”

You left to prepare the brownies, even going further and torturing your charges by putting them in the warm oven for five minutes. The scent of chocolate quickly lured Gaz, who took a warm brownie on her plate with a thank you, then hissed like a snake as she backed away- playfully territorial. Dib came down as you took the first bite of your brownie, setting his laptop and first draft on the table.

You handed him a brownie, which he quickly stuffed into his mouth, and worked on his essay. It was progressing nicely, but he was missing the point of his argument by talking about the finer details rather than linking them to his overall thesis. He was thinking and writing like a scientist, not inherently wrong, just wrong for the topic of conversation. You shifted his thinking, telling him that he needed to link his ideas to the grander scheme of his paper rather than getting so wrapped up in the small things.

“Why doesn’t my dad believe me?”

“Because he is not ready too,” you said, scratching out a very long run on sentence. “His brain is massive, Dib. When it reflects itself against the universe, do you not think he cannot comprehend the sheer vastness of it. Dib, intelligence is as much a strength as weakness- if you comprehend everything, it cripples. I imagine that is what happens with your father in regards to aliens.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, passing him what was left of your brownie.

“This is not to say his way of thinking makes it right; your feelings are valid, Dib.” You looked him in the eye, holding contact until you believed he understood. “Unfortunately for the scorned, as are his. This is not to say his way of thinking is right. Perhaps understanding begins to soften that blow.”

You smiled at him, brushing his hair back playfully.

“Beside, he cant think about aliens any more than you think of a vegetable outside my jurisdiction.”

Professor Membrane informed Yellow and the kids that he would be staying later in the evening. He explained some of the people he was meeting with, showing off a new invention and hopefully discussing plans to roll out the object. It warmed you that he was telling his kids rather than being negligent and leaving them with a sense of abandonment.

You allowed them to stay a half-hour later than their bed-time. Gaz somehow got into a mood while you were dealing with Dib’s. Dealing with her in such a state was similar to Zim’s- direct assault.

Rather than come at her with weapons, you snagged the soft blanket she liked to wrap herself in. She was on the couch, playing on her game and unaware of your ambush. She squealed in shock, then shouted your name as you wrapped her in the blanket. Soon, the angry flailing turned to giggling as you carried her up the stairs- bouncing the anger right out of her as you tossed her on the bed.

She went to bed with a smile.

Dib, you left with some words: “Your father will see the truth when he is ready. Not sooner or later. What you have to determine is how much energy you are going to waist on a harvest that is not ready to grow.”

On Thursday night, you received an email requesting that your services were no longer needed on Friday’s as Professor Membrane would take a half day to spend with his kids once they arrived back from school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a note if you enjoyed!
> 
> Stay safe, be healthy, I love you


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends- i have posted the final chapter for you. I cannot believe the journey that you have all taken me on with Yellow and the gang from IZ! thank you all for your constant support and love. This was a big leap for me as a writer since it was the first long piece of work in second person.

Truth through trial. It was one of those unspoken things that you thought coexisted around all types of countries. That, if two waring peoples were trying to pull information from the other- a trail would occur.

This method of settling differences was cleverly taught to initiates. Killing the opponent was inherently against the battle itself- so it saved blood from being shed all over the carpets. Both opponents had the opportunity to fight to defend the information, and when one lost- it was given freely to the victor without any worry about breaking honor.

There was clearly something that Zim wanted to reveal, yet he was still mulling it over, pacing around in your room as he muttered to himself, breaking in random shouts. From the words that were shouted it was something revolving around Dib.

“Let us spar,” you said, putting the glass down on the table that you drank from. You moved around and grabbed Zim, who was so absorbed in his thoughts, he missed your declaration as well as your approach. Zim squawked as he was unbalanced, PAK legs coming out to twist him out of your grip. He fell in line when he stood upright, recognizing the path they were on.

You prepared yourself with a simple series of stretches, your attention still on Zim. Occasionally, he would grow impatient and try to attack. He no longer did such things, as you gave him a physical reminder on why ambushing your sponsor was not the best of ideas. Perhaps, ‘no longer’, was not an accurate term. He would make attempts when he was particularly anxious. False lunge, hissing. It riled your nerves, fraying the instincts in your body against the mind.

There was little doubt that he was learning from you.

He attacked first, a front charge. You braced your stance, dropping weight into your hips. He was a wiry fucker that could twist and strike from every angle. Charging was not to his favor. Though, even as you collided against him with all the force of a rhinoceros, he did have more speed on you, which caused some bones to protest.

You dropped him to the floor, breaking the tension that supported you both to throw him off. Unbalanced, his PAK legs missed their target, focused on regaining ground. Zim wrapped his legs around your torso, beginning to punch. You blocked the movement with fists to your head, elbows protecting your face from his training attack.

After letting him have a moment to enjoy himself, you grounded, stood, and shook him off. Zim let go before you could toss him back down, regaining his stance. He pushed to the side, striking at you in your blindspot.

You blocked his extension with a smile.

“Good,” you said: constant positive reinforcement.

Zim relished in the praise, repeating the attack from the side. Gradually, he began to expand on his attacks. He would mock charge, preparing you for an attack that did not come, leaving other parts of your body exposed. He took those opportunities. After three, you closed that door, striking against him.

Now you were sparing. It always began with Zim taking several victories, giving little instructions on ways that would kill an opponent more efficiently. It changed to a series of practiced blocks, hits and stances to reinforce the natural response to defend or attack. Then, if Zim was in need of working through a problem, the moment you began to push back in the fight, becoming a more aggressive opponent, the problem within his mind would overtake his clear thinking and make him sloppy- both of form and lip.

“He is infuriating,” Zim declared as he threw a solid left hook towards your rib cage. You caught the end of his elbow, enacting how you could have shattered it over your knee, tumbling him to the ground in a mock kill pose. You removed yourself from him before he stabbed you- it had happened before.

Using his PAK, he pivoted his stance, looking fierce as he strode towards you. This time, you darted around, striking from the side. When you went to kick him, his extensions, caught you, taking you to the ground by your spine. You compressed your lungs to kick the air back as you landed, preventing more stunning than necessary. Leg still in his extension, you swept the other against his own counter-weight, rolling him over.

You weighed heavier than the irken, larger mass simply by natural design. It was a bull fighting a snake- each would exchange a series of wounds until they both yielded or dropped.

Sometimes, whatever was in Zim’s mind could overwhelm his body for a moment when he was stunned by something. His systems were attempting a reboot, but leaving a freeze spot.

Right now, Zim inhaled sharply, going limp on the ground. His cheeks flushed, eyes open wide but not looking at you- he was watching whatever scenarios and events were playing in his mind. You relaxed a bit, still pinning him to the ground- he needed more practice on how to get out of a pin like this: completely vulnerable and exposed.

He roared, shaking his head and turning back to a hissing snake. “I hate him!” You tightened your thighs, pinning weight down around him until he was caged in. The position was one of a sexual nature and taught to all initiates no matter anatomy or orientation.

“Unbalance me from the hips first with a sharp buck. My head will drop forward, push yours forward towards the soft tissue of the nose. Your opponent is then dazed, disoriented and rocking back while keeping your head from sustaining too much of a brain injury.”

Zim did as instructed, his pelvis colliding with yours- he was angry and overwhelmed about what was in his mind- it hurt your groin, but better he learn to be violent than docile if ever finding himself unwilling in such a position. It pushed the air from your lungs as you rocked forward as you told him. This time, he was nicer with his movement, mock striking- more like booping your nose with the crown of his skull, lekku perched forward as they monitored your reaction. You rocked back as if struck violently, letting Zim take the initiate and deliver three mock strikes to your face before backing up.

You remained on the ground for a second, letting him witness his victory, then got off the ground, keeping your stance on defensive, waiting for him to decide if they were done. Zim was panting, one hand on his head. His face contorted painfully between each expression- hissing in a mockery of the native tongue he spoke and the language spoken here.

“Easy Zim,” you said, hands moving from defensive position to surrender as you approached. His distress was evident as his lekku twitched above his head, down his sides.

“All evidence points to one conclusion, Yellow-human,” Zim hissed, pointing a finger to his chest. “Zim has seemed to develop feelings for the fool-pig, Dib,” the confession was ripped from the irken, who had laid pathetically on the ground after the confession, seeming smaller when unburdened.

You did not move to help the alien off the floor.

“Of course you have,” you said simply. “Did I not explain to you the different types of love that humans feel? It all boils down to the amount of time you spend with the other person you are most compatible with.”

“Zim did not chose this!” He declared. You gave a heartless laugh, moving to stand over him from where he laid weak and exposed to an enemy.

“Do we choose to exist? Some things simply are. When flowers grow, pollen spreads through the wills of chaos.” 

“How does Zim get rid of these _feelings?”_

Now was the moment you were waiting for. You had kept telling Zim that while an ambush was often the best technique, if the enemy was expecting it, an ambush could turn into a trap. The same was to be said for verbal battles- it would be a long time before he would ever be ready to fight those. One thing at a time.

“Oh,” you said, “I guess I miscalculated Dib’s feelings on the matter.”

They were each the moth to the others flame. Call one and they become a lighthouse- glistening and like a siren, luring the other in. Zim stood on his legs, now eye level with you.

“Explain.” You growled at him a little, reminding him that while he was growing stronger, soon to be given a trail as to test his abilities. That day was not today, until he passed his trial, he would not stand at your level and make demands of you so easily. He cast his eyes down, lowering himself so that when he looked at you, he was forced to tilt his head upward.

“Commonly these things are reciprocated.” You finally backed away from him when you saw him beginning to make calculations in his head. He could not see you moving him to this conclusion or else he would back away from it out of denial alone. It had the potential to shatter everything you didn’t know you were going to work towards.

It was a bomb of a situation and you were just tossing it around.

“What is the statistical likelihood of the Dib-thing…” he waved his hand around as he trailed off. He rocked with anxiety, eyes looking everywhere but you. While you did not have a certainty, you knew his pattens and habits. He was bouncing between withdrawn and clinging: denial in two forms- being unable to accept his feeling and unable to talk about them.

You smiled at him in the way that he understood: feral.

“Extremely high.”

“Can we ambush him?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

There was fear then- his own, a lack of confidence. Right now, he was wild with opportunity and if it went unused- it would fester and toxify.

Well, it was a nice night.

You pulled out your phone and texted your charges. Gaz would enjoy seeing the conspiracy. You also took the precaution to text Gir- knowing he would never live it down if he did not see Zim and Dib fall in lovesssssssss.

“Then let’s begin this mission.”

*

Bones healed several times within his hands as Purple practically tore himself into the Control Brain’s hanger. Frantic hours were wasted hurling large items at the door, then a race to grab a vehicle small enough to fit through the Massive’s halls to make it to the door…over and over again, Purple ran, shattered bones, winded himself to try and open the door.

The metal was hot to the touch, warped in odd places that forced him to contort his body to enter the circular room. He brushed himself off, hoping to look nicely presented. He took in the state of his clothing- oil covered stains and tattered shreds holding together his uniform that project power onto his subjects. There was no sense in trying to control his fear then.

They beeped at his approach, as they did with all Irken’s that approached them. He took in a breath to begin his plea- but was cut off with another series of sounds.

“Tallest Purple,” They said, “thank you for joining us. In light of new events, We have decided to initate Great Purge Three.” His shock was as evident as his silence. A Great Purge- he hadn’t been alive for the last one, obviously, but the years between the last Purge and his hatching were so great. “All revised defective Irkens will have data retrieval thanks to the power of the antimatter collected from the Florpus. Information will be reviewed for the good of Irk.”

Purple did nothing more than stand there like a gaping fish, so much so, that long hooks dropped from the ceiling long enough that he was captured by them, a command placed inside of his PAK. His eyes went black as the order was written into his mind- to go and inform his fellow Tallest of the news.

By the time Purple’s vision cleared, the Brain’s had moved him out of the small hole, dumping him on the ground.

“We thank you for your commitment to our Empire. Goodbye.”

Purple held his back from where the PAK was pulled violently, not used to such a rough treatment from the overall rulers of the Empire. His pain turned sour, the order in is PAK moving him forward past it, to his own chambers.

Purple found himself looking back as he walked to his room, where Red was full in the throws of the third stage of rest. Destructive mania passed quickly, thank the Brains, because as a Tallest- part of such an honor was the ability to be as destructive as possible. Red had used all his years as an Irken, an Elite, and dug them up to the front of his mind as he was in Stage Two. When he finally collapsed to the floor, a day or two earlier than the smallers, Purple thought it was a good sign- that his friend, enemy, mate, was stronger than the others.

A scan revealed Red lacked any more nutrients to fill his mania. Fortunately, Red was strong enough that he was able to stay awake as his body recovered. Purple found himself repeating the words of the Control Brains to his fellow in a monotone voice. As soon as the order was carried out, it felt like he could see again, his throat free of the influence over it.

“We just need to make it to earth,” Purple said, coming to his side. Red sneered, his lip pulling up past his teeth to reveal dehydrated gums and sunken in eyes.

“I won’t be making it through the Florpus,” Red said. Before Purple could comment to his fellow’s words, he was grabbed and hauled with what had to be the last of Red’s strength onto him. “The legacy of Irk. Kill them both- Zim and that Yellow human. Destroy the planet at all costs.”

There were little words that could be spoke. After years, thousands of Irkens sent off on missions to conquer for the good of the Empire- ever growing and expanding with shipyards and influence on every corner of the universe touched by such feared power- brought down by a glitch in their internal system.

Purple could only hold onto his Tallest as his eyelids fluttered closed and he went back into the regeneration state. He calmed his own breathing as shaky hands reached for the monitor. His vitals were stable- no where near what they should be, but stable in their current state.

He found his palms hurting from the pressure of the device. The screen shook, the image distorting as he looked at it. That angered him, the glitching only increasing. He dropped it when the device sliced his finger, blood dripping onto the ground and damaged tech.

The lone Tallest aimlessly walked around what was left of the Massive. His movements were slow, each step taken as if walking through the haze of sickness that hung in the empty hangers. Some Irkens were on the ground, slouched over in vulnerable positions that asked for a more dignified death than the one they were likely to be greeted by. Purple did not go to them, not even to the pair that sat on the corner. One Irken was on a box, leg hanging off as Sugar Schock set in. With limited supplies, after such a rush of gorging before Purple could properly calculate rations, left those with Stage One starving- rushing them to Stage Three.

While they were no longer destructive, Purple would have taken the rage of looking over a broken door rather than watching one broken Irken tend to the other. The shorter looked up at him, regarded him silently, then went back to his friend.

Any other week, year, timeline…

He hooked himself up to the Control Brains, numb to the feeling in his body that got him through the door. He hung there, a numb feeling echoing on his spine as he remained part of the Massive as they floated through the Universe.

A thought drifted through Purple’s broken mind as he hung. The Taller wiggled, the hooks putting him on the floor and ripping from the base of his PAK.

“Can we bring the invader that gave you the update?” Purple asked, seething for an opportunity for revenge- to take back what was _there’s…_

The Control Brain’s pulled back their hooks to weave them around each other. He did not have time for their contemplation- if he could kill Zim, then Red might survive.

“With the antimatter we’ve absorbed through the Florpus,” the Control Brains said, pulling their hooks back into the ceiling with a colorful set of lights over their membrane. Purple smiled, feeling something deep unlock within him at the opportunity to fight and kill. He should have waited, he later realized. “We can bring them all!”

The Tallest Purple did not have the opportunity to shout out to abort the mission- the bright light that emitted from the center of the three blinded him. He was flung back into the wall, his PAK expanding enough to catch some of the weight before he slammed his body against the wall.

*

Yellow felt the shifting under their body. Your ears were ringing, a pressure feeling as if it wrapped around your skull. You tried to shake it off, only to find your muscles stunned to the point you tipped over, revealing the squirming pile underneath.

It was the children, your charges. Your body was disoriented, limbs numb and not answering the call you sent to _get up._ Bright and shifting lights flickered overhead as you tried to get your vision back to center. It was likely a head injury then, thee fact that you were so disoriented with little feeling to your limbs. Cognitive function would fall within the next ten minutes.

All in all, not the best timeline.

You could see, through the shifting field that made up your vision, an alien stumble upward. Zim was awake first. You forced yourself to heave forward, stomach jumping into your throat you almost had to vomit to keep stable. You saved yourself an undignified introduction.

“Go,” You said, shaking Gaz back to wake. Dib was hitting the side of his head, shaking it a bit. He as talking to Zim, to you, from the looks of it, but you could neither really hear him nor focus on his lips to read what he was saying. You shook your head, putting a now waking, and angry, Gaz. You pushed them out, towards a door way.

Anywhere was better than the place of ambush.

You really knew that when the numbness broke in your abdomen. You stumbled, pushing the group out. You didn’t know what made the door close, but you were grateful as you turned to see the opponent that shot you.

There were some battles that were easier to win if you waited, for that moment when the enemy brought you within the belly of the beast. You were disoriented. Fighting was out of the question until you could see in a straight line. And that was going to be complicated given that you were bleeding out from your side.

Oh, you were a death gift to a loved one. You guessed that was flattering, in a way. You watched as the two touched their antenna, look at that, everything was coming back the way it was supposed too. Granted, you were still lightheaded because of the blood loss, but you could hear their native hissing. They were passing glances at you, growling at you then touched each other’s forehead. You stayed still, not willing to anger them in their last moments together.

This was the Massive then as it fell to it’s titanic ending within the waves of the universe. The one that dragged you here, Tallest Purple, hit you right in the wound, wow. That was-

Just breathe and focus on bringing sight back up.

As Tallest Red staggered to a standing position, caught between floating on his hover tread and balancing with a makeshift cane, his grin informed you of what was to come. You sat back, lazy stance as you greeted the falling leader.

It was time for torture then.

Your body contorted as it lifted a bit in the air. You followed the cords, head swaying to the side in a mild display of an EMD concert of lights, saw that you were floating from the ceiling.

Zim did that sometimes, didn’t he- the mildly taller fucker. Oh he was going to have a Trail then. What a fun time you were about to have- entertained by torture of his leader, and then- maybe killed by your protégé.

Always such a pressing time for recruits.

You paid attention to the Taller Irken when he hissed at something small in front of him. A camera, you supposed. Another blow was delivered to your side, a matching bruise to the counterpart his partner left.

Torture was really an art and took some skill to master. It required a natural affinity for looking at the weak spots of a species, the spots that hinged with nerves to the internal structures of fibers and exploiting them with just enough pressure to get what you wanted. It was a skill that Tallest Red clearly had honed over his years as Tallest.

Like falling, the time that passed went much slower than perceived. Pain was a constant, dull throb to the human race. And you felt every pull and tug. The bonds on your spine were pulling at the shoulder blades, only adding to the break. A dull throb of pain, a back burner, if one would, a great way to increase overall inflammation.

Well done, Tallest Red.

“YELLOW-HUMAN!” the voice was shouted and shook you to his direction through the vibration of pain. Your head was still injured, Zim. He prowled closer, his PAK activated and standing tall.

He was not standing at his full height, instinct still pulling at him to submit to his Tallest. ZIm was smaller than his leader in height, not by much, but noticeably at chest height if he were to be on the ground. Yet, there was a presence about him that had Tallest Red flinching back, he was healthy. That alone, turned the tables entirely in Zim’ favor.

“When I am done with this _pathetic_ human,” Tallest Red said, putting a blade right into the hollow of your neck, resting it there with a steady pressure enough to keep you in place without breaking the skin. “I am a _generous_ leader,” he said, throwing the blade down onto the ground in anger. “You chose to betray your species for garbage,” he pointed to the blade, then lifted a finger to you.

“I’ll let you take out the trash.”

Ah, this would explain the camera. You looked in it, maybe the last time Dib, Gaz and Gir might see it. Zim had the favor of seeing you in the flesh, damaged as it might be. The Tallest Purple, counter to Red, was probably somewhere safe or heavily guarded- separated from his other so if one was killed, the other might endure for the Empire.

Zim’s PAK creaked on the fourth leg, third joint. It was ever third stride that a little pop could be heard. You did not flinch at how close he was behind you, near caged around.

“You’re choice.” You said, knowing that it was his time to decide. He could free you and kill the others, taking over or abandoning them as they did him. He could submit to his rulers, slaughtering you and your charges in a massive failure. He could self-destruct. The options were endless and the chances of him choosing one without any chaos was zero. Your only hope relied on how well you conditioned him into liking you.

Cold ground met your wounds, a small blessing as you soaked in the cool feeling while Tallest Red screamed in fury.

Your work was more of an investment, really.

Twisting your body around, you removed the bindings along the rest of your limbs, analyzing the wound in your side. You hissed, tossing your head back as you quickly stuffed it with cotton. The arching caused you to look at the battle. Zim was fighting his Tallest leader- using the tactics you had taught him.

His shorter height allowed him to dart in and out of the range of his leader. Yellow sat back, the gun resting on your thigh only had six bullets and none of them could interfere with the battle before you. This was Zim’s opportunity- the only one he would ever really have, to either break from his origins completely, or fall back in line.

This species was invested in it’s warrior culture. Zim’s skillets alone spoke of the time they spent preparing for battle. Normally, as a leader rose in rank, breaking further and further from the grime and thrill that came with being a grunt, they lost their style of fighting- forms sloppy.

The Tallest Red did not have this problem. He was tenacious as he fought Zim, weak as the alien appeared. As Zim grew in height, his body grew thinner and thinner, to the point you asked him if he was consuming enough calories in the day. He assured you that this was simply part of growing taller.

Each hit that he gave to Zim was well placed, in joints or large expenses of flesh. It was not that the Tallest leader did not know where to hit- it was that they lacked any real power behind them.

Zim hooked his own PAK legs under his leader, tossing him back on the ground and pinning him. Zim growled with a smile as he lept for the kill, body elevated off the ground as his legs were perched to strike. You saw that the Tallest Red was waiting for a moment like that. You saw him turn on his side, reaching for a weapon while Zim was hung in the air like a fool.

Cold metal rested in your hand, slick as it was with your blood, and pulled the trigger. The kick of the gun was enough to halt Zim, who had been around humans long enough to know that sound meant some form of trouble. Zim landed on the ground above his leader, perched and lekku alert as he watched his Tallest grip the side of his chest.

You picked up the shell on the ground, wanting to leave no further evidence of your being here than the large pool of blood.

“Get up, Yellow,” he commanded, standing above you. You had robbed him of his victory just as you robbed him of a foolish death. Zim gripped your arm and heaved you up, blood loss causing your vision to scatter around as he pulled you to and from.

“Dib,” he said, “I will need you to get to the bridge of the Massive and reverse the controls to the last docking port.” He pushed something into your wounds that had you cursing in your own native tongue, causing your charges to look at you with concern. You smiled to them, waving it off so that you could relish in the moment of Zim taking charge.

“Gaz, I need you to take out any Irkens that get in our path to the Control Brains.” He turned to his robotic companion, who was singing and laughing to himself. “Gir,” he stood to attention, “protect the Dib and I’ll let you cause as much chaos as you want while you’re with him.”

Gir cheered as he pulled Dib along, deeper into the metal hull of the ship.

“Yellow,” he addressed you. “don’t die,”

“Yes sir,” you replied, tilting your head down. There was always a beautiful moment that came with charges evolving into agents of destruction. This was such a monumental occasion for Zim, and you were there to witness it even as he dragged you in and out of halls.

There weren’t many Irkens that crossed your path and those that you saw, they were sitting or slouched over, consuming snacks or holding them in their hand with nothing more than a blank look attached to their faces as they waited until they expired. Zim shot at the few that came to stop you, still loyal to their Empire.

“In here, human,” Zim said, throwing you down on the ground, hopping over to provide some cover. You looked around, nerves twinging from various injuries acquired today. The Brains were hanging, three cords swaying in the center of the room. Zim rose, his stance tightening as footsteps approached you. You grabbed your own gun, five bullets heavy in the chamber.

Dib, Gaz and Gir were the ones that appeared.

“Done,” Dib said with a smile. Gaz came close to you, looking down at where your hand was. She put her own over yours, pressing into the soaked cotton deeper. She hissed, pulled your hand away and the cotton free. You growled at her actions, knowing that she was trying to help She cleaned the blood around the wound with her shirt, then shoved another tampon into your body.

“You’re not going anywhere,” You looked up at the new friend, ah yes, the counter that Zim had told you about- Tallest Purple. He seemed healthier than the other, on stronger legs and carrying a gun that looked like it weighed less than his own body mass. Impressive, while you robbed Zim of his one fight- he would now be forced to win this, lest they all die.

Zim knew this as well, approaching the older Emperor with a hiss on his tongue and PAK legs propelling him to a taller height. The two brought themselves up, a subtle dominance tactic. They mock charged twice, testing the other, then engaged.

You could only describe it as a brawl. There was little skill or tactical thought put into each blow- they were fighting with their emotions. Zim was fighting against years of failure and conditioning while his enemy was fighting against the little runt they couldn’t; kill. Dib, who was less happy to be watching his partner get ripped apart by an alien leader, held his gun up, but at the proximity of their blows, shooting at Purple would be impossible without hitting Zim.

“Leave,” Zim said, pushing Purple back further and further back with each advancing strike. “The Massive will return to it’s course.”

“There is no return,” Tallest Purple said, his PAK leg coming close to cutting Zim at the legs. “You all die here, today Zim.” Zim hovered from where he was standing on the ground, a serpentine motion that confused Purple for just long enough that Zim could strike in the face. His leader was disoriented, he struck in the chest once with a fist, then twice. Purple, desperate now, slashed at his arm, catching Zim in the spine as he tried to spin out of it’s path. Zim completed his circle, dropping a leg to the ground.

He struke upward, pushing his PAK blade through the center of the Irken leader. Tallest Purple froze against the pressure building on his chest, hand grabbing at it. Zim panted, slowly standing to full height as Purple was almost in his embrace, held upright and close to Zim’s chest with the blades. Zim dropped his leader by pulling his blades away, the body dropping to the ground.

“My Tallest,” You said to him, shifting your weight over so that you were kneeling, though you used the wall to keep your body upright, you were sure he would forgive you. Dib, Gaz and Gir all looked at you in confusion, then Dib dropped to his knee with a grin. Gaz commented about keeping it for the bathroom while Gir exploded with a shot of confetti belching from his mouth.

Gazz grabbed the side of your body, her frame supporting your own. Dib and Zim were both hovering over a board of controls, bantering to each other by the looks of it. The brains that hung ominously above you only blinked with each key the two men typed in. The blinking became steadier above them, opening a pool of light onto the four of them.

Getting ripped through the fabric of space by only the power of a light controlled by an alien brain was daunting, but as you lost so much blood, the fear of being ripped across the universe was mild.

You were back in your house, body slouched on the floor. You guessed as the Massive returned to its original position in the universe, the five of you would too.

“Ahh,” you cried, looking at where you were, “There is blood all over my carpets.”

“Is that really your concern?” Dib asked as Zim picked you up and threw you on the counter. He pulled away the shirt and exposed your flesh. Dib was looking at his sister, who was back on her phone, but not looking at the screen as she usually did. That was odd, what could she be doing? A hand against her free ear so she could better block the noise of the room.

Oh, the noise you were creating.

Well, adrenaline only worked as a painkiller for so long anyway.

Yellow was not doing well. The bleeding had reached a level where they were incoherent, mumbling in languages all over the globe- mostly calling out to the pain inflicted on the side of the abdomen. Gaz was on the phone with her father, asking for medical supplies.

Zim and Dib were both over Yellow’s body, Zim working on pulling out the shrapnel that was causing the bleeding. Each piece was small and embedded in the flesh of the human.

When the door burst open, the three looked up from the table while Professor Membrane stood in the doorway assaulted by the image of a bleeding adult, a creature with green skin and red eyes, and his children elbow deep in the bleeding human.

Professor Membrane must have been used to seeing such images as he only halted in the doorway for a moment before closing it with a calm click behind him. He assessed the situation, seeing the wound in Yellow’s side. He paled, knowing that with the parlor of their own skin, it was unlikely the sapien could pull through.

“the hemorrhage is too big for human technology,” Zim said, moving to the side so he was at eye level with the wound. He pulled out his PAK blades, standing taller above so he could rip into the wound from a higher angle.

Professor Membrane watched as the creature suspended above the babysitter, tools of unknown origin plunged into their body as he tired to save him.

“Zim?” Professor Membrane tried.

“What is it?”” Zim hissed, not looking up from his work where a tub was making it’s way deeper and deeper into the cavity. Professor Membrane almost felt stupid. There was a creature here with green skin and a misshaped stature, hovering suspended by a backpack.

“He’s an alien!”

Gaz smacked the side of her head, Dib huffed a laugh, his hand rubbing the back of his head as he looked into the future version of himself. And Zim, Zim rolled his eyes at the folly of humanity.

*

Gir was, for once, peacefully resting next to you in his new dog costume. This one was designed to trick the little creature- used mainly for when Zim was working on more dangerous experiments or wanted to be alone with Dib. His costume was the same, only he had a little sash around his body that marked him as your Emotional Support Animal.

After all, getting shot by an alien was considered a traumatic event.

His leash was hooked under the leg of your chair that was under the one tree, nicely shaded from the day’s sun. On the table next to you were the usual items, some food, a cool drink, a weapon, some light reading.

You saw the target approach you. They waited on the sidewalk, not technically legal enough to shoot them and claim ‘private property’ until you nodded, allowing them entrance. It was one of your younger recruits, four batches ago, you believed. She had turned into a well-respected agent.

You poured her a drink as she took a seat, one leg over the other.

“I’m guessing asking for your return now is pointless.” You hummed into your drink, agreeing with her.

There were still things to do. Zim now considered himself a Taller, powerful on his little corner of the universe. Dib was following in his footsteps, standing shoulder to shoulder with his partner. They would head to university soon, likely stay on the planet for some time before the yearning for adventure pulls at the two of them.

Gaz had stabilized as her father entered a larger portion of her life. The violence that came from her low-self esteem only showed itself in heightened moments of emotion. Her life was on a steady track with you. You spent the afternoons and evenings teaching her how to fight once you recovered fully from your run in with the Irken leaders. She was taking to it naturally, finding peace as your drilled her until her body was too sore to overthink.

“I think I’ll stay awhile,” you said, tilting back the glass of lemonade. The agent had already rose to her feet, walking to the fence that separated your yard.

When she was out of eyesight, you heard your name, your color called out by three voices.

You greeted your charges with a smile and walked towards them- ready to talk about whatever adventure they finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all! Tell me what you think about it! be safe and be healthy!


End file.
